Fallout: Eon
by eaglescorch
Summary: In his lifetime, the Courier has faced countless tragedies and hardships, but now he has reached the limit. Pushed off the edge by the countless deaths of those he loved, he is prepared to die, yet the world is not finished with him. Faced with a cunning and ruthless enemy in a world he no longer knows, the Courier must plunge into war one last time to claim the death he craves.
1. Broken

All right, sorry to everyone who wanted me to continue Cross Incident, assuming anyone did, but I was actually extremely excited to write this story. This is, for all intents and purposes, the epilogue to the entire Supremacy One Trilogy, but at the same time it is its own story. I hope you enjoy it, for this will most likely be the last journey into the Fallout universe, assuming I am unable to find a way to rewrite Cross Incident. It will not be my last story, but it may be the final Fallout story. None the less, I hope you Read and Enjoy.

* * *

Fallout: Eon

Chapter 1

Broken

Mojave Wasteland - Goodsprings Cemetery - The Night of the Last Revolution

The sun was setting on the Mojave Wasteland once more with its traditional shine and glory, but what was usually a beautiful sight was now marking a day that would be remembered in agony and despair. A day that would be spoken about in hushed tones and songs filled with sorrow. The usual bountiful beauty of the Mojave was forever scarred by war and hate. New Vegas was mourning those it had lost over the past few years, erecting a simple yet elegant monument in what had once been the town of Primm, but now stood simply as a burned out husk, a reminder of mistake made in times long past.

In this cemetary however, no such ceremony was held. There were no banners, no prayers, no speeches, and no love. Simply three graves, each bearing an insignia of those buried below, and a man standing without so much as a glimmer of life in his eyes. A man who had sacrificed it all to save those he cared about and in the end achieved nothing. He looked at the graves with mournful tears racing from his cybernetic eyes onto his blood stained duster, remembering those he had lost.

This man was the Courier. Once a hero, now nothing more than a broken soul.

Each grave had something marking who was within. Not words, but items that defined the person in life. On one grave to the Courier's left was an Old World Flag, the symbol of America with its 13 stars and many stripes. The occupant was obvious, Ulysses, his believes and body as dead as the country itself.

The second grave to the Courier's right had a whiskey bottle lying at the graves base, half-full and half-empty, with a single rose placed within. Rose of Sharon Cassidy, the Courier's closest friend and true love, struck down on the end of a blade by a lunatic trying to send a message to the Courier. A message so simple, yet so hard to accept: He had failed. He had failed everyone that he had ever cared about.

Ultimately though, the final grave was the hardest. It stood directly in front of him, the dirt still fresh from being filled in, the Courier having done the work himself. Cast over the grave marker was a duster not unlike his own. Except this one had a bright yellow 101 stitched into the back, layered on top of faded Alpha and Omega Symbols with the first verse of Revelation 21:6 stitched into the collar. This grave belonged to the Lone Wanderer, Leon Stinger, the Courier's greatest enemy and, and perhaps his only true friend. They had been at each others throats for years now, plotting and planning as they moved against each other from the shadows, but when the time came to act, to save the world from a threat greater than ever before, they met the challenge together. Of course it didn't last. As they had finally forgiven each other, dropping past grievances, the Lone Wanderer was cut down without warning, a malevolent laugh the last thing Leon heard before dying.

Ultimately, even though the crisis of the Supremacy War and Last Revolution had come to pass, the world had been saved, and peace had settled on humanity, the Courier had won nothing. His closest allies were dead, the people he once led no longer trusted him, and the few friends he had left were trying to pick up the pieces left in the aftermath of this Pyrrhic victory. Some would say that the death toll could have been much higher, some that the damage could have been far worse, but for John Hollister, the Courier, that wasn't true. Everything he had set out to do had led to his entire world crumbling down around him, now he figured he could end the suffering that plagued his soul.

See you soon old friends. He said, his mechanical eyes watering in blood. He drew his 9mm Pistol, the very same he had received the day he had awoken in this very town years ago, and pressed it against his temple. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he pulled the trigger. There was the sound of a chamber emptying, a brief flash, and a splatter of blood across the cemetery sands before the towering figure crumbled into the ground. His vision was blurred for a moment as he believed he was feeling death's embrace taking him. It felt strange, the blurred vision, all sounds being muffled before vanishing all together, and the abilities to taste, feel, and move began to slip away. To anyone else this would have been a horrifying thing, but to John it was as though he was putting a child to sleep, a beautiful sight. He could feel his life vanishing and to him it felt glorious, the world around him all disappearing, his own final thoughts turning to what may lie ahead. A golden paradise, a fiery damnation, or simply the yawning black abyss of nothingness. No matter what it would be, it would at least give him a release from this forsaken world.

Then something happened that changed everything. The Courier began to feel again. The earlier embrace he had felt from death seemed to be drifting away and his vision, hearing, taste, and all the things that he was glad to escape came rushing back with a ferocious punch. Suddenly, his eyes flew open and he let out a gasp. He looked around with an expression of shock and fright before looking down at the pistol lying not far away. He pressed his hand against where had shot himself and felt his finger briefly press through a gaping hole in his temple before it rapidly closed, not so much as a noise to echo it. At first, John simply thought that his brain was hallucinating as he was dying, but then he noticed something lying near Ulysses grave: The bullet. He stumbled to his feet, feeling escaped blood against his neck suddenly evaporating into vapor. He picked up the bullet between his fingers and realized he had indeed shot himself. He had shot himself in the head and somehow survived without so much as a scar.

The look of horror in his face was indescribable. His hands shook with horror as he held the very object that moments ago would have spelled his doom, now spinning like a plate in his hands as pointless as anything else in the world. He nearly collapsed to the floor in shock if he hadn't seen what had stained the bullet: Blood. Normally that wouldn't be a surprise considering the conditions he once lived in, constantly under fire from bullets and lasers while taking knifes to the throat, wrists, and torso, but there was something different about this blood. It wasn't the usual dark shade of crimson red, it was a bright poison green with what looked like a thousand white fires flooding every bit of it, glowing and glaring with a white light as bright as the sun. From afar it would look like nothing more than a firefly but where John was now, kneeling on his knees in shock, it looked like the sun itself.

As his horror disappeared, bloody tears were running the length of his face. He knew his body could survive incredible pain and incredible damage, but he also knew that a well placed bullet would end his life, regardless of whether his brain was in his head when the bullet passed through. Now even that seemed to do nothing more than slow him down, prolonging his endless pain. The truth sank in as he ran, faster and faster, but there was now escape from it.

He couldn't die. No matter how far he would run from that grave, he wouldn't die, and where many would see that as a blessing, all he felt was darkness. After running for hours on end without exhaustion or dehydration, he stopped to consider what he could do. In the storm of bleak desperation, another thought crept into the back of his mind. One that perhaps could at least help him escape. He had stopped running just past Primm, where the torch lights and candles could be seen as Veronica, now the newly appointed leader of New Vegas, placed a number of trinkets on a plaque pedestal in the center of the burned out town. The plaque itself simply read: To all those lost, you will not be forgotten.

John watched as the ceremony dispersed, before vanishing in a flash of light. The next morning, when Veronica and the others in Vegas awoke, they would discover that the Securitrons who once guarded the Strip had disappeared, along with Yes-Man and the entire Lucky 38 database. Elsewhere, Project Alpha's technology would vanish in the night, New Hopeville would mysteriously self-destruct with the Old World Guard inside, and a great shield would cover the Big Empty preventing any way in or out, forever locking it off from the wasteland. All as part of the Courier's final plan.

If he could not die, he would disappear. He would leave New Vegas and the world outside of him to there own devices, wherever that may lead them. As for himself, no one knows what happened, but one thing is about to become clear.

The world isn't finished with the Courier. As the Lone Wanderer's last words echoed: He hasn't earned the right to die.

* * *

Capital Wasteland Outskirts

On the outskirts of what had once been the Capital Wasteland, two scavengers were traversing hostile terrain in search of something. They had crossed the country in search of a legend, in spite of the toxicity and other deadly conditions that now loomed over the northeast. They pressed through, dressed in standard survivor gear with pots and pans hanging off their clothes as makeshift armor and rough hats covering their scalps. Their feet thumped against stone and dust as a very thick fog covered their field of vision, making traversing the land a very trick prospect.

None the less, they pressed on, moving north along on the borders of what had once been the home of the Lone Wanderer, now simply home to mutated rats and mutant fish. Alongside the occasional insect they found no other living things along their battered route, but as the fog began to thin they stumbled upon what they were searching for.

"Unreal." One of the scavengers said, dumbfounded at what they had discovered.

"Outstanding." The other said, as if he knew what they would find, that the myth was true. In front of them stood the looming remains of a Mobile Crawler Base, similar to the one the Enclave had used at Adam's Air Force Base, however this one was far bigger. At least three times the size of the one once looming over Adam's and in far better shape considering what happened to that one. Time however had not been kind to the wreck, as it had fallen into disrepair and battered by the winds of the Capital and the radiation of the very recent bombings. Besides that, there were also breaches, burns, and dents in the 20-inch titanium walls that could only have occurred from either an internal explosion or a very powerful weapon used against the hull.

"Let's move in." The first scavenger commanded. The second complied and they entered the titanic machine, searching for something amidst the ashes. They loomed through empty hallways and battered rooms, discovering bodies of soldiers dressed like the Enclave, but painted red, white, and blue, and using weapons that didn't look like the standard Enclave Plasma Rifles. All in all there was more then enough to salvage here and make enough money to retire in luxury, yet they didn't pick through a single bit of the scrap and kept moving towards the center of the crawler.

"What happened here?" The second scavenger said, unsure of himself as he climbed over bodies.

"You know the story, don't you?" The first asked. "These guys, the Patriots, some top-secret division of the Enclave, hammered the Capital Wasteland. They occupied it for a time, then got there asses handed to them by some no-name Vault Dweller and the Lone Wanderer." They passed through one final doorway and entered the area they were looking for. "Finally."

The huge room they had just entered was in ruins, a large gaping hole in the ceiling letting very dim light into the room, where upon the ground lay the bodies of several of the so-called Patriots, a headless woman dressed in a blue Enclave Officer outfit with the name Whisper stitched on the chest, and another more familiar lifeless face: Star Paladin Cross. Her power armor was torn through as though a bear had mauled through, which you could be forgiven for believing considering the fact that she had been completely disemboweled with her organs decaying on the floor, a message in dried blood still staining the floor: "Betrayer."

"Fuck." The second man said in disgust.

The first man walked further inside and discovered that a large important-looking device was standing tall in the center of the room, obscured by debris and inaccessible for the time being. Damn. Hey, help me move this shit. The second man, as hesitant as he was, moved in to help him. He began pulling pieces of metal and wires away from the device, but as they dug further the second man moved a large metal plate and found something disturbing. He stopped moving debris and backed away slightly.

"What's wrong? See a rat?" The first man scoffed, unknowingly placing himself in the way of something rather dangerous.

"That... That is not a rat." He replied as he raised a rifle. The first man looked confused, then walked over to see what he was talking about. He looked down for a moment, before a beam of blue light sliced his head in half, with blood and brain splashing onto the floor as the body fell to the ground. Suddenly, the debris crumbled away as a large figure sat straight up, a high-tech laser pistol in his hand, and slowly turned to look at the second man with a look of cold hate. He stood from his position, a General's Jacket he had once been wearing that was now torn to shreds, before crumbling away to nothing, revealing an incredibly pale hairless body beneath it. The second man opened fire with his assault rifle, but the bullets bounced off his skin like it was bulletproof, without so much as a scratch. Before he could even reload, the bulletproof man fired one shot that sliced the man's jugular vein, leaving him to bleed to death on the floor. Taking the Wasteland Trader's Cap and Uniform from the first dead man, he walked out the door leaving a firm footprint in the blood.

A few moments later, he left the crawler and quickly found that his surrounding were not as he remembered. It was completely different and that both struck him with a sense of rage and horror.

"Lone Wanderer... You fool..." He gently spoke to himself. He looked at a gauntlet grafted onto his left arm, looking somewhat like a Pip-Boy but far more advanced. It opened up a digital map of the world, locking in on coordinates due west, far west as a matter of fact, yet more close to home then he could realize...

The Mojave Wasteland.

"You believe you can kill the Adversary, Lone Wanderer?" He declared, revealing his identity. "Without me, your world has ended, and soon so shall you." He egan walking west, not realizing what had happened, how long it had been, or what he would find.


	2. Incursion

Hey I'm back. Sorry this one took a little too long, and I've been busy. Anyhow, I don't really have anything else to say, so Read and Enjoy!

* * *

CyberJordan: Well, it's not going to be pretty, trust me, but you haven't even seen the worst of the Courier yet.

Slovous: Yeah, well this is possibly going to be the darkest story I've ever written. It's not going to be a happy time, but it won't be complete and total darkness all the time. only most of the time.

Chazzen01: Again, MAYBE it's the last story. I'm not sure yet. The Adversary fell, yes, but he's not done. Not by a longshot.

DeathbladeVI: Thanks. I fully intend too.

YezmantheAmatuer: Sort of. They're still the super-power, but there best technology have been taken out of there reach.

Enclavefan075: Sorry, but it kind of fell apart on my end. So I had to start from scratch. On the Courier's Side, he's been pushed off the edge and into a pit of fire.

Exile037: Noah will return, but not immediately. I have plans for that character in particular.

* * *

Chapter 2

Incursion

New Vegas - 2293- Five years later

Veronica and her lieutenants sat down around a small table, as the Courier had once done with the Council, this new High Command met in a similar fashion to work towards the common good of the now truly independent nation. When John Hollister, the Courier, dissolved his regime and disappeared, Veronica's new position was used to her advantage once the Securitron army and the assets utilized during the Supremacy Wars had vanished. Now the factions she reigned over now worked double time, controlling the wasteland with all former resentments broken down in the face of near annihalation.

"What is the current status of the Third California Republic?" Veronica asked, referencing the newly reformed Republic on there borders, put there by an uprising in the wake of a brutal regime.

"They've rebuilt the southern areas, but are not having much success rebuilding the battered northern territories." Her first Lieutenant said, a young man by the name of James. He was a former member of Caesar's Legion, having served during the war against the NCR, he deserted them after the events of the Spearhead.

"And the Legion?" She continued.

"Still maintaing there settlements in West Texas. Past that however, they are continuing to attempt to retake the Pasture Line." He explained, referring to a loose imaginary line that connected a large amount of settlements stretching from West Texas to the Mojave, there only chance at getting the supplies to keep them alive. The Confederacy had been marching on the line as well, hoping to restablish contact with the now distant Legion, who had been led by Lanius to those far outposts where they were attempting to rebuild following Elijah's reign of terror.

"Hmm..." Veronica grumbled, not actually caring about much of the things in these briefings. However, the position once held by the Courier left them with very few other options, the most obvious one being abandon the world to ruin, although she doubted that would help anything in anyway. "Anything else?"

Before James could speak, there was a loud beeping coming from the Lucky 38 main terminal, and Veronica's face immediately lit up. Not with relief, but with dread.

"We're going to have to cut this meeting short." She said, speaking quickly. "We'll continue this... Tomorrow hopefully. Dismissed." The other lieutenants stood from there chairs with confusion but eventually complied, entering the elevator past several elite guards who were standing without any real interest in them. Veronica on the otherhand pulled herself from her chair with a sigh and walked into the main room, where the beeping was originating from. With the press of a button on the main terminal, the screen flashed before revealing the face of Sentinel Sarah Lyons, now a general in the New Vegas Armed Forces.

"Report." Veronica commanded to the veteran.

"We're in position for another breach. Everything is set, just give the word." Sarah said, through a thin yet omnipresesnt layer of static.

"All right, prepare Team 6 for infilitration. Hopefully our friends in Arroyo weren't wrong about this info."

"Yes, Ma'am." Sarah finished before the screen flashed to reveal a large map, one that had been taken years before, and now was there only option when it came to understanding what lay in there target: Big MT. With another sigh and a brief shot of Med-X to take away a bit of stress, she watched from a sattelite to view the coming storm.

* * *

Big MT. Outskirts - Camp Alpha

What had once been a simple crater surrounded by nothingness in the middle of desolation and darkness was now a great white dome of blinding light. Nothing could pass through it, at least nothing the Confederacy had tried. They had tried Eyebots, bullets, lasers, and even an Atomic Bomb when they became desperate, but all of it just disintegrated on contact. No explosion, no dust cloud, nothing but a thin layer of ash. Now, in one of the dozens of camps that decorated the foot of the crater, like maggots trying to eat at a corpse, they were going to try something yet again, in hopes of finding out what was going on inside.

Sarah Lyons, now possesing a synthetic robot arm due to injuries sustained during the Supremacy War, was standing alongside several other recognizable figures, including Raul Tejada. She stared at the ghoul patiently as he put the final touches on his newest creation.

"All right, it's all ready boss." He said, not even realizing the exact phrase he used when he spoke to Lyons.

"You don't have to call me that Raul." Sarah replied, respectfully.

Raul looked at her as he realized what he had said. "Sorry, force of habit." He said with a bit of a sulk.

"It's all right, all that matters is this thing works." She said, trying to dodge a touchy subject at record speeds.

Raul nodded. "It will. This thing has enough power to rival Archimedes. If Archimedes could fire ten times over within a second." He said, trying his best to act smug, when in reality he had no clue if this would actually work.

Sarah briefly raised an eyebrow before leaving the tent, letting Raul make final preparations for there attempt. She walked towards a Vertibird at the edge of the camp, where a small team of about ten people stood, each dressed in Heavily Armored Chinese Stealth Suits, with two familiar faces at the head of the group: Katrina Hollister and Andrew Daniels.

"All set?" She asked Katrina, who was fitting a piece of armor to her leg as she looked to meet Sarah's gaze.

"As much as we'll ever be. She grumbled. I'm not sure about these soldiers, but Andrew and I are ready to go."

Andrew, who had been sharpening his Broad Machete on the a makeshift grinding wheel, looked over to them. "Right, because dropping into hell is always a good idea." He remarked with a sneer.

"Problem?" Katrina and Sarah asked at the same idea.

"Other then this being a pointless endeavor to take back something that wasn't even ours to start with? No." He said, unusually upset.

"Nice to see your being optimistic." Sarah mumbled, irritated.

Andrew turned to look at her, as he began to twirl his machete in between his hands, occasionally cutting his hands, but he didn't seem to care that much if the scars already there were anything to go by. "And it's always nice to see that I seem to be the only whose brain works properly. We both know this won't end well, but you seem to want to sacrifice us for nothing."

"Andrew..." Sarah couldn't even begin to speak before she was cut off.

"A shield doesn't go up for nothing. Ask yourself this: Is the Big Empty really worth all this?" Andrew's question barely had time to register with Sarah before the announcement that they were underway came over the speakers. Katrina and the rest of Team 6 boarded the Vertibird, while Andrew continued to stare down the former Sentinel.

"Get on that Vertibird." She ordered, dodging the issue as she marched away towards a small set-up of terminals and computers. Andrew reluctantly boarded the aircraft as they took off.

"This is General Lyons to all forces, prepare for breach. Raul, mobilize the Rain Cannon, let's see if your toy is the key."

"Roger that." She watched behind her as the cannon began to roll out of the tent. It was a large device in a shape similar to the LAER, but on a much larger size and scale, with a small unstable atomic reactor powering the device.

"Team Six is in the air, fire at will." Sarah confirmed one last time.

"Got it." Raul said as the cannon rolled up to the forefront of the camp, while he held the trigger and a pair of goggles not far off.

"3... 2... 1... FIRE AWAY!" He yelled, just as a ray of faded green light shot forth from the gigantic barrel of the cannon, crashing against the white shield with a spontaneous burst of fire and light that lit up the desolate landscape that was slowly being abandoned by the sun as it fell into the desert. The display went on for minutes, the lights growing with intensity with every second, before something they thought impossible finally happened.

It broke. The shield broke, not entirely, but a big enough gap had been cut in it that the Vertibird could go in.

The shield is open! Sarah yelled. The shield is open, Team 6, GO! GO! GO! Without hesitation the Vertibird flew into the gap, believing from there things would be simple; it wasn't.

Almost as quickly as they passed through the shield there was a huge power flux in the Vertibird. The propellers ceased to work almost instantly upon entering the shield and the engines died soon after. It fell out of the sky with a jolt of electricity and crashed directly south of Ulysses Point, the crew barely catching a glimpse of the shield closing behind them through the smoke and blood stained metal. So far there plans had taken a dive at the first hurdle, with Team 6 having been reduced from ten soldiers to five, technically three seeing as though Katrina and Andrew were among them and they weren't actual soldiers so much as they were specialists.

The laser was never going to be a permanent fix to the shield, thought, hence Team Six. There goal was to find the power source and take it offline, something that seemed simple from the outset. What they were seeing now complicated things. When the Big Empty had been seen last time, it was a ruin populated by the walking dead, a product of mad science that had spiraled out of control and led everything to ruin. What they were seeing now was a massive complex decorated by towering hexagonal spires, energized labs working double time to produce there various projects, a clean shine reflecting off every inch of the ground and buildings with not a sign of debris, and of course the Dome. The lights that had once been bright white streaks of solid light hitting the sky, forming the energy shield.

"What the hell has happened to this place?" Andrew asked, looking around at the towering structures.

Katrina was at a loss for words. The technology that surrounded them was beyond anything even she had seen in her time, it put all but Supremacy One's Technology to shame. Needless to say that it had far surpassed the technology of the Pre-War Civilizations, almost to a frightening degree.

"Halt!" A voice called from nearby. All eyes turned towards the main road to the dome, where a lone Robo-Scorpion stood with weapons armed. "You have entered the land of the Broken. Leave now or prepare to die."

"Not going to happen." One of the soldiers said, firing a hail of bullets right into the machines visor. The bullets didn't even reach the scorpion before another machine stood directly in front of there path and took the full force of them, not even scratching it. This machine was quite different compared to what they had met in here before; feminine in it's design, with an array of human facial features that looked very familiar, but Katrina was unable to put her finger on how. It's hauntingly beautiful silver body put shame to the most beautiful of women, yet it had no defining characteristics except an almost liquid complexion and perfectly smooth form.

Before they could react to it's arrival the machine's metal body shifted and seemingly generated a shotgun-like device from it's back. It then drew the weapon from it's back and watched as the soldier in front of it turned into a blue plasma with a powerful burst of blue lights. The rest of the survivors immediately scattered from the crash site as two more of the feminine machines generated seemingly from the metal ground of the Big Empty, doing an equal amount of damage with there own similar weapons, but they seemed to be more interested in the vehicle then the people who were in it.

"What the hell are those?!" Andrew quietly screamed.

Katrina couldn't answer, she was trying to catch her breath after being taken off-guard by the enemy power. She looked behind the rock, trying to see what the machines were doing. I wish I could tell you but I honestly don't- Her voice stopped in it's tracks when she saw that Andrew's face had froze, his eyes fixated on a point not far behind her head, near another rock the final two soldiers were standing. As she turned with her heart pounding, she saw why he was so afraid. Behind the two unaware soldiers, there was something moving swiftly towards them. It wasn't the same as the machines near the Vertibird. It was very muscular and masculine in it's design, yet again a stunning liquid silver body but not a single feature except for the face. Here was where the biggest difference became clear. Rather then a smooth beautiful face, there was a scarred and terrifyingly gruesome glare in it's black and red eyes. Before they could so much as yell for the two other to move. It drew what looked like a pole from it's back and drove it through the skulls of the unaware soldiers, not even giving them a chance to defend themselves.

Not wanting to end up like the others, Katrina and Andrew took off without hesitation towards the dome, pacing along a freshly paved metal road without missing a single step. There speed was probably pushing the limitations of the human body quite a bit, but neither of them were completely human. As they were in spitting distance of there target, even more of the strange machines began to surface, following them with varying paces. They were too preoccupied with there own fears to notice that the machines seemed to be stopping not far behind them. Katrina and Andrew managed to get to the Dome, but much to there dismay, the doors seemed to be shut down.

"Well shit." Andrew said aloud as he banged on the door with his fist.

"Can you get it open?" Katrina asked between her gasps for air.

"Not while-" Andrew turned around to see that the entire army that had walked behind them now was gone, seemingly evaporated into thin air. "What in the world?" There was a loud clicking behind them, and they discovered that the elevator leading to the Sink had powered up, the door wide open now. With caution they stepped inside and watched the doors shut as they ascended the Dome.

When the door opened again, they entered into a pitch dark room, with only a few dim lights glowing in the utter darkness as the elevator doors slid shut. They couldn't see more then two feet in front of them. They were too exhausted from there earlier panic to move very far, but even those precious feet slipped away when they saw someone's silhouette on the other side of the room. The figure watched them with pain and misery in his eyes, his green glowing eyes that generated plenty of light on there own.

"I came here to find solace. To find silence. To find my way. But you just couldn't live without this place could you? This place and it's war machines, it's insidious devices, and unanswered questions." The voice of the man sounded hoarse and dry, yet still managed to croak out the bitter tones of a broken man. "I suppose that's just the way humanity will always be. If you don't control something, you'll spill blood and tears to claim it, without ever stopping to think what you'll lose along the way."

"Why did you bring us here?" Katrina asked, timidly.

The figures eyes widened before he coughed. "Even you forgot me in the end, then." He said, shaking his head. "I guess maybe I was right to leave, when the person who knew me the best remembers me the least."

Katrina suddenly felt a metaphorical hammer crash against her mind as she realized who was looking at them, and it didn't calm her down in the slightest.

"John..? Is that... Is that you?"

The lights suddenly flashed on and before long both Andrew and Katrina were looking down a man who they thought was dead, and from the state of his face it seemed like he had been dead. His hair was completely gone, beard and eyebrows as well, and replaced by a pattern of vivid scars, framing his blood shot eyes and blood-stained head, with streaks of dried green pouring out across his head from within his ears, eyes, nose, with an advanced Rebreather covering his mouth.

"That name means nothing. My symbol means nothing. I am nothing. If you came to find the Courier, there is nothing left to find."

* * *

Northern Passage Security Checkpoint

At the rim of the Mojave Desert, the day had passed by uneventfully within the main entrance to the Capital of the Confederacy. The guards stood in front of a wooden door with enough boredom to spread around the entire wasteland. Two guards were playing a game of cards in a lawn table while the other two at the door simply stood on watch at the exit of the cave. Before they could even reach the flop, someone began to walk down the cavern from the other end walking straight towards them.

The guards barely had time to get a glance at the man at the other end of the hall before a beam of light cut them to shreds. None of them were even able to reach for there guns before they bled to death and the man kicked open the door without even breaking his stride. He exited from the caves without so much as a glance a the carnage.

It was the Adversary, not that it wasn't obvious already. He lay his eyes upon Vegas with his usual coldness, but this time with an empty surprise.

"So... House succeeded after all." He grumbled. "You picked a strange place to flee to, Lone Wanderer. Shame it will not hide you for much longer." He looked at his tracker, then began to march south, not knowing of what he was going to find or who was to blame.


	3. Hopeless

I've gotten enough feedback and motivation to take extra time out of my day to write this chapter at an extremely fast rate. So Read and Enjoy!

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CyberJordan: You've seen nothing yet, John's fallen vastly further then you think. As for the Adversary, it may drive him towards the brink, but it will not drive him past it. No, something far closer to home will do that.

DeathbladeVI: You're a sadistic bastard after my own heart. Trust me, John's torment isn't over. Not by a longshot. The Adversary isn't going to help that situation.

Yezmantheamatuer: Knowing me? Probably. Once I killed off a main character because I was bored, so when I have motivation to cause pain... Oh it's a fun time.

Exile037: Well you'll see it very quickly. Although, it may not be what you expect.

Enclavefan075: Well, you haven't seen much of them yet, they aren't as overpowered as you believe.

* * *

Chapter 3

Hopeless

Katrina couldn't speak. Her voice escaped her in the wake of discovering her brother, even more broken than he was when they last met. The room was silent as the grave for a few brief seconds, then Katrina grasped her voice once more and spoke.

"What's happened to you?" She asked, quivering where she stood in a way that most wouldn't believe possible, at least in the case of Katrina Hollister. Yet here they stood.

John simply glared in response. He said nothing, his stare becoming ever more bitter as the silence continued. Ultimately, it wasn't the siblings who broke the silence, but Andrew, whose impatience for these events was becoming almost tangible.

"Listen, Courier. I don't care much about this place or your problems. Just let us go." Andrew said, defiantly raising a fist at the Courier.

The Courier gazed upwards at Andrew. "You are not my prisoners. You chose to enter this place, you chose to break down my shield, and you chose to press on even when your team died. As far as I'm concerned, any prison you think you're in is of your own design." John's philosophical wording of the phrase "This isn't my fault, it's yours" quickly hit a nerve with Andrew. He drew his Broad Machete in a violent pose and pointed the blade directly at John.

"Let us go or I'll cut my way through you. Slowly and painfully."

In spite of Andrew's threat, John stood to his feet and walked over to the former Raider. "Oh believe me. I want you to try." He said, drawing his finger across his neck. "Take a good slash, see what happens." The scars that decorated John's exposed flesh were of varying age, some old, some new, but all were as gruesome as possible. Katrina felt sweat wash down her face as the tension quite nearly turned the air to fire. Then with a swoosh of his hand, Andrew cut the Courier's neck wide open, green blood spraying onto the blade and into Andrew's face, not that he cared much. The Courier stumbled backwards as more blood left his neck, but he did not fall, he didn't even seem to feel pain. He stood still for a moment, looking down at his Stealth Suit that was now dyed green, before jolting his head back up, his eyes locked on a horrified Andrew. Both Andrew and Katrina watched as the violent gash across his neck began to close in on itself, leaving no trace of the weapons brutality.

John gazed at Andrew with disappointment. "You see now? This is why I have locked myself away. I am no longer human, I don't eat, I don't drink, I don't sleep, I don't even breath, and I..." He hesitated as tears began to form in the corner of his eyes.

"I cannot die. No matter how much is thrown at me, I don't die." John's pain grew as his scars began to light up with the same green inhuman glow. "This Rebreather I wear, it doesn't produce air, it produces nerve gas. This Stealth Suit? Instead of stimpaks, it injects toxins of every sort. Yet none of it works. I can't die, and with that I can never get the peace I wish for."

Now the roles of Katrina and Andrew switched. Andrew had never met the Courier before, and this one defied all the stories. Katrina on the other hand had managed to take hold of her voice once more and spoke again, this time with a timid voice unlike her.

"How did this happen?" She asked.

John's dark eyes slid towards her. He walked towards her, adjusting his neck and making sure nothing had changed. "Do you remember all those implants and cybernetics I filled my body with?"

"Of course." She replied.

"When Orion destroyed my legs, I had to upgrade them. Project Alpha had the solution: the Zeta's Biotechnology. I was warned that my body would shut down if I used it on just one part of my body, so to be ready for the coming war, I had Auto implant the Zeta Technology with my entire body. I didn't foresee the consequences. After Orion fell, I discovered that the technology hadn't just been implanted, it had integrated with my body, both the biological and mechanical parts. It created somekind of... Synthesis. I'm no longer human, I'm something else. Ever since I came here, I've tried to find a way, no matter how simple or complex, to die."

Andrew and Katrina cast a nervous glance at each other, unable to grasp what they had just been told. It went against everything they ever understood about this hero, but none the less here was John, and from the grim look in his eyes they didn't see how he could be lying.

"If you're looking for a way to die, why hasn't the Think Tank helped you? Surely they could reach a solution." Katrina said, optimistically. That optimism fell through the floor as she watched John's expression darken. "John, what's wrong?"

"Perhaps it would be better to show you."

* * *

The three of them descended into the Think Tank's command center, usually well-lit and clean, but this time it was dark. There was nothing but the dim lights of a now forgotten past. John, Katrina, and Andrew walked up the ramp into the main area, and with a few buttons pressed on John's pip-boy, the lights flickered on to a grizzly sight. The inside of the Dome was soaked in blood and covered by broken glass. Cobwebs and dust-covered the broken labs as cracked screens began to flicker and flash red. The lights sparked and glowed above with only half of them actually working, and right in the middle of the floor lay the mangled remains of the Think Tank, whose mechanical husks had been twisted and smashed beyond recognition.

Andrew and Katrina walked forward and examined the devastation, while John spoke behind them.

"They were the ones who ran the tests that confirmed my status not long after I turned on the shield. Once I was told, I demanded they run the tests again, wanting to find a weakness in the design. They refused, citing something about their technology never being wrong, and told me there was now no way for me to die, at least nothing that existed on Earth." He hesitated to continue.

"I still regret what happened next. I went on a rampage. I grabbed my Tesla Cannon and opened fire inside the labs, causing the damage you see here. The Think Tank tried to calm me, but nothing was going to stop the carnage. They were reduced to that pile of carnage and metal in the middle of the room, and not long after that, Mobius's systems failed and he perished alone. I was left here, constantly trying to find a way to find me a solution to my infinite life."

Andrew looked up at John. "And how in the hell does killing the Think Tank further that goal?" Andrew sneered.

"Don't think a day goes by where I don't regret what I did, but they would not aid me. They acted weak and spineless, so I ensured they would not threaten my interests again."

John's scars and eyes lit up like the night sky as he grabbed his sister by the collar and held a dagger at her throat. "Don't question me. You've never faced the suffering I have, you've never faced my tragedies, my failures. If you think you know my pain, you're dead wrong." John pushed her to the ground, knocking her unconscious. "I'm activating a transporter to put you back in the Mojave. Tell Lyons and whoever is running the fucking show in Vegas to give up. If they try to break in again, I won't be as forgiving."

"You call this forgiving?" Andrew asked, holding the unconscious Katrina.

John simply replied with "Yes." He pressed a button and beamed them out of the base and into the Mojave drive-in theater, leaving the Think Tank as lonely as the graveyard that it was. Without another word he walked out of the Think Tank, turning out the lights as he went. He walked out of the Dome entirely, heading out on the pathways into his technological utopia. Before he got very far, he stopped, looking straight ahead.

"You overheard all of that, didn't you?" John asked, speaking seemingly into the blue.

"Most of it, yeah." A female voice replied. "I know you have a lot to blame her for, but Katrina's still your sister. She didn't deserve that."

John turned around and looked straight at a previously unseen figure. "I don't need a lecture from a ghost." John declared. He was staring directly at Rose of Sharon Cassidy, who had been dead for about five and a half years.

"Oh really? Then why are we talking now?" She asked in response.

John hesitantly replied. "You won't leave me alone." He was unsure of himself in that answer.

"Heh." She replied. "You said that the very first night we spent together. You remember that?" She walked forward and began brushing her hand against his shoulder, her hand as cold as ice.

John gave a brief smirk before grimacing again. "It was the night we won the Battle of Hoover Dam, not something I forget easily. We were drunk off our asses, we went into my room, and the next thing I knew you were in my arms the next morning." John's grimace became even more cold. "If only I knew what that would lead too..."

She used the tips of her fingers to move John's head up from its sulk and look him in the eyes. "It wasn't your fault John. It never was." She said, leaning in for a kiss, only to halted.

"If only I could believe you, Cass. If only..." He looked around to find that she had vanished with no trace of her ever being there. John quickly shook his head and moved on, recognizing that his grasp on reality seemed to be slipping. He sped up his pace around the Dome and towards the Forbidden Zone, moving away from his failures as quickly as he could.

* * *

The Forbidden Zone

The Forbidden Zone hadn't changed much in the time since the Courier's take over, at least not in Mobius's old labs. Inside his testing room however, where the Robo-Scorpions once tested their metal against almost anything, things had changed. It was now bright and silver, with the old railings and walkways taken down in favor of Zeta Technology Teleporters. He walked into the main control panel and spoke into a microphone.

"Computer, begin the test on my mark."

"Yes sir." The mechanized voice of the computer responded. John removed his stealth suit and Rebreather, revealing that the scars ran from his skull all the way to his feet in a gruesome pattern. He walked down to the main floor, stood in the center of the room, and held out his hands.

"Beginning test in 3, 2, 1." When the count down reached zero, two mechanical arms appeared wielding Cosmic Knives. With two viscous slashes, John's wrists were wide open and bleeding onto the floor, the Courier not even blinking as it happened. Simultaneously, Turrets based on the Alien Blaster's unleashed a thousand tiny bolts of energy headlong into John who did nothing to try and dodge or stop the bolts. They hit his skin with lightning speed and force, creating violent burns and tears in his skin, but still he did not even acknowledge the pain. Not long after three well placed lightning rods emerged around him, and began to fire lightning directly into the Courier, who still did nothing, even as thousands of volts were running the length of his arms and legs. Tears of blood began to form in the corner of his eyes as he realized this would not work, like so many attempts before in his elaborate suicide lab.

Minutes passed and hundreds of bolts were being fired at him, yet he was still standing, his body healing faster then it could be damaged. His wrists were already closed again and the burns were disappearing as quickly as they arrived. Finally, it all slowed down and came to a stop. John's body was still standing, he was still alive, and his wounds didn't last. He slowly walked away, frustrated and depressed at another failed attempt.

He sat down in the chair overlooking the testing area, seeing his blood evaporating on the floor at an alarmingly fast rate. He pulled a device on the table towards him. The device was fashioned to look like an old-tape recorder, but was in actuality based off the Zeta Audio Logs, and had unlimited space for his information to be stored. Something he was grateful for.

"Log 191: Attempt 349 was a failure, just as all that came before it. Amplifying the damage ratio of the Alien Weapons did nothing to help me, nor did the increase in toxins I've been prescribing myself. Past that however, nothing has changed. I remain immortal and I remain unable to reach the peace I wish. Even the energy used to create the shield has not sped up progress in any meaningful way. As for any other developments..." He paused for a second, thinking back to Katrina and Andrew's earlier visit, what was said and done, wondering whether on not it was deserved. Then he continued.

"There have been no further developments. Though I have a suspicion that the attempts to breach my sanctuary will soon end. Perhaps then I'll be able to get some real work done... God, I sound like Klein." John turned off the recorder at that, saving the information for a later date. He placed it down and walked out of the room, the lights clicking off as he did. Every time he believed he found a solution, he was wrong, and now he was starting to realize he may have to face an unforgiving truth.

There may not be a way for him to die.

* * *

Goodsprings

Inside the Prospector Saloon, the jukebox played it's tunes, Mr. New Vegas spoke over the radio about recent events, and Trudy served drinks at the bar. It was a quiet night, with only a settler, two scavengers, Sunny Smiles, and Trudy herself being present. Cheyenne had long since passed away, Doc Mitchell not long after, and now they and Chet were the only original residents who remained.

"Need another round?" Trudy asked the scavengers, who were sorting out some junk they had found in the hills nearby.

"No, I think we'll just pay our tab and head out." They called from a booth.

Trudy nodded and went back to cleaning out a glass and listening to the radio, with a disturbingly close report on the radio for the first time in years.

In other news, an attack was carried out on the Northern Passage earlier today, resulting in the death of anywhere between 4 and 6 soldiers. While it is unclear who or what was responsible, as the weapon marks were inconsistent with anything on record, we do know that whoever it was does not pose an active threat to the New Vegas Confederacy...

Suddenly, the door to the saloon flung open, the wind howling outside with a loud roar. From the wasteland, a man dressed in a Trader outfit walked through the doorframe: The Adversary. Sunny immediately took an interest in him, as he gave of a feeling of discomfort and fear. He walked right into the bar, stood before Trudy, who seemed to feel just as unnerved by his presence.

"I am looking for someone." He said, slowly and coldly.

Trudy put down her glass, moving her hand behind the counter and reaching for a revolver. "Well, I've met a lot of people. You'll have to be more specific."

The Adversary raised an eyebrow. "He's... a unique individual. Wears a blue jumpsuit, with a 101 on his back." Trudy's eyes widened as she realized who he wanted, something the Adversary quickly noticed. "You do know him. Where is he?"

"I..." Trudy recognized it was going to be harder to lie to him now that she was off her game. She quickly drew the loaded revolver, but the Adversary just as quickly knocked it from her hands and shot the settler who was sitting on the stool next to them, before turning around and shooting the scavengers with perfect aim, killing them instantly with shots to the back of the neck, not a drop of blood spilled in the process.

Before Trudy even realized what had happened, he shot her three times in the chest, knocking her backwards. The shots punched through her lungs before she crumbled to the floor.

He walked around the bar and kneeled down. "I tried asking politely, no one had to die. Now here we are, so I'll ask once more. Where. Is. The Lone Wanderer?" He asked, taking a pause between each word as he stared Trudy down. She wasn't going to survive this, that much was obvious.

"That's enough." Sunny said from behind, loading a clip into her Varmit Rifle. "No one else will die today."

"That's a matter of opinion." The Adversary replied.

"No it isn't." Sunny replied, finger on the trigger. "Though, seeing you're the sadistic type, I'll make you a deal. The Lone Wanderer is at the top of the hill behind the town. If you want him, go get him. Just leave us be."

The Adversary gave a slight grin, before turning on a dime and facing Sunny Smiles. Before she could respond, he drew another weapon from his arsenal, something quite familiar to the Lone Wanderer: A Railway Rifle. With one well placed shot, it pulled Sunny Smiles head from her shoulders and nailed it to the wall, the look of shock and surprise on her face captured forever. The Adversary turned to the still struggling Trudy, and placed his boot directly on her neck. He gave a good press and grinned with delight at the crack that followed.

Deciding to finish his job properly, he began grabbing every bottle of liquor he could find, pouring it all over the floor and walls. After all of it was used up, he placed a small brick of C4 on the wall, taking Sunny Smiles head off the wall in the process as a trophy, all the while stepping on her body to the point where it looked like nothing more than a pile of pulp covered in Leather Armor. He placed her head in his backpack, before setting the entire saloon on fire with a lighter. As the saloon burned and the night lit up with fire, he traversed the hillside, making his way up to the water tower. However, when he reached the top, all he found was the cemetery, and directly in front of him was the grave of the Lone Wanderer.

"All this time... All this way... All for nothing..." He said those words then paused. A few moments later, he began to laugh a sinister laugh, crying out into the dark. It went on for what felt like an hour, becoming more insane with each laugh. Then all was silent. Without another word, he walked down the slope he rose from, passing by the residents who were watching the Prospector Saloon burn without so much as a glance. He walked with purpose, with motivation, and with conviction.

For him the plan was easy enough: Find out what happened to the Lone Wanderer, destroy who was responsible. What he didn't realize was how much he missed and how much had changed. Soon enough he would discover the truth and soon the Mojave would know fear once more.


	4. Grand Design

And yet again I'm on a roll. Not stopping now, not when I feel like I finally have a grasp on where I want to go with this tale. Read and Enjoy!

* * *

CyberJordan: You have no idea. Things are going to continue escalating, even faster then before.

DeathbladeVI: Always nice to see we're on the same page. Trust me, I will not stop torturing him, esepcially with what's about to happen.

Yezmantheamatuer: Again, knowing me? Probably. As for the Adversary, that was one of the reasons I stopped Cross Incident, I realized no one would care about a character who had already been pretty throughly flushed out. Especially when this story is focusing more on him and the Courier then anything else right now.

jkduncan1973: Yes I did. I took it down due to creative mistakes on my part. (Read the above review for one such mistake) It may get rewritten but I'm not sure.

* * *

Chapter 4

Grand Design

For the people of the Confederacy, all they knew of what happened in the night was that a fire started in the Prospector's Saloon, that Trudy and Sunny Smiles died in the fire without so much as a scream. There was no evidence of the Adversary's involvement, no sign of his trademark systematic torture and execution, and thank god for that. Not that there were many people who knew what the Adversary anymore, he was mainly forgotten by history, although erased may have been a better word for it. None the less, the ones who did remember would take any steps necessary to stop him.

He was being careful and quite this time, his flare for the dramatic having been suppressed so he could remain anonymous, allowing him to pass through the Quarry Junction and arriving at the gates of Freeside, where two Kings were standing as the guards, watching him enter the area with slight suspicion before letting him pass into Freeside.

Freeside had changed over the years since the Courier's flight. It was no longer the slum it used to be, rather it was now shiny and reborn with bright new paint on the wall, the decay and damaged buildings repaired and rebuilt, with shops, restaurants, and entertainment all open for business. The roads and sidewalks were paved, the Old Mormon Fort, and the Iron Walls now straightened and reinforced with cement. All the old cars had been melted down for material, which were used to help the repairs here and now were in the hands of the Westside Militia who were doing similar repairs in there home.

Hmm. The Adversary grumbled as he walked, almost with disgust. He wondered if these people had ever seen the world outside the Strip and this newly rebuilt Freeside, unaware of the fact that these renovations were recent, then continued onwards. He passed the young Mick and Ralph's Crier, who looked up at him with fear, stopping his preaching for a second when he saw the grim face of the Adversary.

He ignored the child and passed onwards, moving closer and closer to the Strip itself, it's light gleaming in his eyes like a thousand stars as the sunset enveloped the Mojave. Everyone he passed cast glances of discomfort, suspicion, and on the rare occasion when someone had the balls, hostility. Those people got there necks cracked like nuts by a single chop to the side of the neck and the rest scattered. Despite the fact that New Vegas was a nation now, the laws of the wasteland were generally accepted as the laws of the Confederacy. Meaning, if you killed someone, there next of kin had every right to exact retribution. No judge or jury, simply the executioner, and even then, no one really exercised that right, because the chances were if you were deemed important enough for them to kill, you probably deserved it in one way or another.

At the gates to the Strip, where Securitrons once enforced tolls and strict control over entrance to the Strip, there stood four Sand Marines, allowing people to pass freely between Freeside and the Strip, maintaining peace in the rare instances someone tried to cause chaos. As for the people themselves, even they seemed to back off from the Adversary as he passed them, none meeting his gaze. The Marines themselves had there weapons ready to go as he was causing them extreme discomfort as well with all the tension in the air as a result of his presence. He ignored there fear and picked up pace, as it was annoying for everyone to be paying attention to him when his goal was to maintain a low profile. He lowered his Trader Cap and moved on, making his way as quickly as he could across the first section of the Strip, giving Gommorah and the Lucky 38 a wide berth and focusing on something at the edge of the city. He didn't pay any mind to the Monorail Station, gave a brief glance at the Tops which was still under repairs if the giant crane at the top was anything to go by, and pretended the Ultra-Luxe just didn't exist.

Instead he walked onto the third section of the strip and in a surprising move, he entered Michelangelo's Sign Shop, purposely avoiding Vault 21 and the bombed out ruins of the Embassy. Once inside the shop he glanced around the steel walls and discovered that Michelangelo was nowhere to be seen, a note on his desk saying he had gone for lunch. Not that Michelangelo was who he was interested in, no, he was looking for an old friend. He walked into the main workshop, looking at the tower of signs in the corner while someone was fiddling with a wrench nearby. He had an Armored Vault Jumpsuit on similar to the Lone Wanderers, but instead of a 101, it was a 66.

"I already told you Angelo. He said, a gruff tone in his voice and coughing. "I'm working on that order, tell the client they'll..." The man turned around from his workbench and dropped his wrench from his hands in shock. He had a poorly groomed beard and rough brunette hairstyle typical of a mechanic or engineer. His mouth was hanging open and his whole body quivered as he looked into the Adversary's face.

"Hello Noah." The Adversary said, addressing the engineer by his real name. Noah Torn, former protégée of the Lone Wanderer, and hero of the Cross Incident, at least that's what he had been called once. If you asked him how to describe himself, he would throw around words like "Failure, betrayer, and ghost."

"No..." He mumbled in response. "No, you can't be real. You're just a hallucination." Noah reached for a case of Buffout nearby, taking a handful of the pills inside without hesitation and washing it down with a swig of scotch.

"I assure you, I am real." He drew a concealed knife from his pocket and threw it at the wall behind Noah, whose whole body froze stiff as he watched the blade pass by his head. "Quite real."

Noah took another swig from the bottle before taking another look at him. "No you're not. You can't be. I watched you die, you were buried under ten tons of rubble, no one could survive that."

"Oh but I did." He said, a sadistic echo in his voice. "How are you Noah? I haven't heard from you since you beheaded Whisper. That was, what? Ten years ago now? Where does the time go?"

"Go away." He said, still believing him to be just a hallucination of the drugs and alcohol he had been taking for the last ten years. He reached for a syringe of Hydra in his pocket and quickly stabbed himself in his wrist, hoping to either overdose and die or at least make the Adversary go away.

"I can't help but think what happened the last time me and you met? I broke almost every bone in your body that day, didn't I?" He continued to mentally torture the quite obviously unstable Noah. "I see you never fully healed from that encounter. It could have been worse, I suppose. Leon may not have arrived to save you, shame he couldn't save Vault 66 either."

"Go away." Noah repeated, tearing up. "Please."

"All that work you put into saving your Vault and it all came undone in a matter of hours. All those people, begging for you to save them, when you knew that door would never open again. What were your sister's last words again, Noah? I can't remember myself." Before Noah could try and beg for him to leave, he had his metal hands grasped around both sides of the Vault Dweller's head.

"Say them for me, would you?" Noah could barely move his lips as it was from the fear, which wasn't helped when the Adversary tightened his grip. "Say it, Noah. Then you're suffering will end."

Noah gave a hard swallow, then said four simple but devastating words.

"You broke your promise."

Suddenly, the Adversary let go, and the engineer fell to the floor. "Good. You remember. I want those words to be burned into your head for all eternity. I want you to know that you were the one who failed to save those he loved. You were the one who will walk alone for the rest of his life, longing for a purpose, and haunted by your past."

"You are real. Noah muttered airlessly. "I know you." Noah grunted, catching the Adversary's interest once more. "You didn't come here just to torture me." He coughed even more. "What do you want, you bastard?"

"What I wanted was to find the Lone Wanderer and destroy him..."

"Why? For bringing that ceiling down on your head?" Noah crowed, spitefully.

"Not exactly." The Adversary scowled at him for that one. "The Lone Wanderer is dead, I want to meet the man who is responsible."

"Heh. Well your shit out of luck there. Neither of them are around anymore. One's dead, the other's missing."

The Adversary responded to that vague taunt by shooing him in the foot. "Would you mind elaborating?" The Adversary would soon understand and all his hate would live once more.

* * *

The Lucky 38

At the Lucky 38, Veronica was going down to her room, the former home of the Courier, which after a long day of debriefings had drained her. More so then usual, especially considering the topic: The Courier. Andrew and Katrina returned with Sarah Lyons to inform Veronica of the current situation. The meetings pressed on all day, first a full debriefing of the situation, then a gathering of Vegas's Upper Echelon to discuss what was to come next, followed a long and extremely colorful debate on there plan of action involving the Big Empty and the Courier. A debate that ended with a deadlock and Veronica completely unsure of which side to take. She wanted to get her hands on the technology in those old war labs, including all the Project Alpha technology and Platinum Chip software, but at the same time, she wanted to respect her old friends wishes and abide by them. All it basically boiled down to was whether or not she took the personal option or the professional.

When she entered her refurnished and restored quarters, however, all those thoughts drifted off. She didn't much want to think about it, deciding that it be best for her to focus on it tomorrow when it would be relevant to her again. She looked at the guards who stood by the elevator entrance with respect and spoke to them with the same tone.

"Take the night off. I can handle myself from here." She pulled a small bag of caps out of her pocket and tossed them to the soldiers. "Hit the town, my treat." The soldiers, despite being the equivalent of the Secret Service, eagerly agreed. They gave a salute then descended the elevator, knowing that if a danger arose she could probably handle it.

Veronica's first instinct was to take a bath, help her relax a little. This was especially helped by the fact that the water around Vegas was now fully purified, the sewer systems were working again, and the water was clean and fresh. It also helped that the refurnished suite came with a fully clean bathtub that still sparkled to this day. She took of her clothes and sat in that bath for some time, almost falling asleep at one point as she tried to do away with the days troubles. Then something strange happened. As she lost herself in the bath, the warm water hitting her skin almost like a blanket, she suddenly heard something from somewhere around the suite. A loud thump, like a dumbbell hitting the ground. She couldn't tell where it had come from, something that was not at all helped by the fact that her door was shut, but seeing that she had been in there long enough. She stood up, put on her sleepwear and walked out looking for what caused the noise. The main hall was empty, so she tried the study area, which didn't seem to have been disturbed, and neither did the kitchen. However, upon inspection, she felt incredibly silly when she found that the noise had been caused by a pool ball that had fallen from her table and had rolled into the wall.

She quickly picked up the ball and placed it back on the table, casting a brief glance at the empty shelves where John's snowglobes once stood. He had taken them all when he left, so all that remained was dust and indents where the globes had stood. She brushed her hand against the spot where the test site globe had once been, before walking away, wondering how so much could change since they had first met at that trading post. She supposed they were both younger then, he was a lot more friendly at the time, still bloodthirsty for vengeance, but able to crack a joke every now and again. She was the same, but now so much had changed. He was immortal and hadn't aged a day since they last saw each other. She was in her early thirties now and while she didn't seem to age very much, except perhaps adopting a few more stern features in her face, she knew that wouldn't always be the case. One day her hair would gray and she would pass from this world, while he'd probably still be trying to find a way to follow suit.

Hoping to get these thoughts out of her head with a good night's sleep, she walked out and into her own room, where she was prepared to lay down and go to sleep, when a voice called from behind her with sinister intent.

"Hello, Veronica." It said with the same ego-maniacal tones as the Adversary, which was to be expected considering that was exactly who it belonged to. She let out a brief yelp before turning around and looking straight at the Adversary, who was sitting on the couch in the corner.

"Who are you?" She asked, pulling out a pistol from a nearby table.

"Soon enough it won't matter to you. Oh, and that gun won't help you, I emptied the clip when I entered." The Adversary declared, standing up and walking towards her.

She tried to pull the trigger only to discover he had told the truth. The gun was empty. "What do you want?" She said, backing away slightly as he walked forward, not panicking like Noah as she did not know who he was.

"That's quite simple really." The Adversary said, utilizing one of his favorite words. "A friend of yours, this Courier, stole something invaluable from me. Something I can never retrieve. Something I'm willing to destroy him for." He smiled as he walked right up to her. You are going to help me do it.

She raised an eyebrow. "Why in the hell would I help you?"

"You don't have a choice." He suddenly drove the spiked tips of two of his fingers directly into Veronica's neck. She barely gasped before she became dazed and the Adversary's hand was back at his side.

She backed away slowly as she lost her balance. "What... What are you doing to me?" She asked, her voice weak.

"I am repurposing you. I never expected someone in your position, politically or personally, to assist me out of your own free will. So I'm simply taking that away." Veronica's head lowered without a response as she felt her head pound with the most intense pain she ever felt, going so far as to grasp her head in pain. "Struggling won't help you. The nanites are already in your brain, you can't stop them. Soon enough you'll be nothing more then a thrall. A puppet for me to do with as I please."

She struggled for another few minutes, before lowering her arms. She stood up straight, arms at her side, spine stiffened. Her eyes opened and her expression was blank, chilling lifeless compared to her normal happiness. Her eyes lacked color and lacked life, the pupils having blacked out and the whites having become increasingly bright.

"What do you wish of me, my lord?' She asked, her voice locked in an emotionless monotone as empty as her mind.

The Adversary, infamous for his usual calm and cold demeanor, ushered in a single heartless smile from beneath his cap.

"The game is about to begin." He whispered, Veronica patiently standing in front of him. For now, you can rest. You will need it. As for what will come tomorrow...

"I believe it's time for a hunt."

* * *

**Just a quick author's note, spell check wasn't working on my computer for whatever reason, so if there is any mistakes involving grammer in this chapter, it wasn't because I didn't edit it.**


	5. Hunters

Well, I've got a bit of a story for you. Over the weekend, my laptop broke, it stopped working all together, I'm not kidding. Keyboard locked up and nothing else seemed to work. So... Just as I'm about to get a replacement for this, my frustration apparently made it fix itself. Because now the whole thing is working like a dream, even better then before. With that in mind, if I for some reason drop off the map for a week, that's probably why. Anyhow, Read and Enjoy!

* * *

CyberJordan: Well it will be a sight to see, that's for damn sure.

Slovous: Well, she's not dead, just under the Adversary's control as a sort of drone. So... the situation is not a dire as usual, but it's still just about as grim.

DeathbladeVI: Well, until my death ray is complete, I am just the genius part.

Yezmantheamatuer: Well that's why people like my stories I guess, I take risks with the characters. Definitely, that's one thing I can confirm, considering what he took from New Vegas, Project Alpha and all.

The Night Hunter: As much as possible.

Exile037: They're both alive, but Veronica is a puppet under the control of the Adversary, and Noah... Well, can't say everything can I?

* * *

Chapter 5

Hunters

The Big Empty was quiet in the early morning gloom, the pulsating shield preventing anyone from crossing into the facility. From atop him fortress, he stood at the railing, considering throwing himself off it as he had done so many times before. He didn't think it would actually work, as it had never done that before, but still the option was there. He couldn't think of anything else to do, as his facility was running low on options. He had tried almost everything in his arsenal: Blades, Bullets, Lasers, Plasma, even the Alien Weapons secured from Project Alpha. None of them worked, if anything they made his body even more resilient to there effects.

"The road ahead is treacherous." A voice said from behind. "Yet rather than face it, you choose to stand still, as though your legs remain broken."

John rolled his head to the side to see that yet another ghost from his past was standing not far from him, this one with far more history.

"Don't lecture me Ulysses." He said, his head already hanging low in his Stealth Suit's collar as he had his hands on the railing.

"I don't answer to you, Courier." The Old World Ghost replied. "I answer to my beliefs. Beliefs that you left without hesitation. Like you were tossing away a rotten apple." The Courier glanced at Ulysses, who now was looking out on the Big Empty alongside him. He shook his head and looked back towards the edge of the shield.

"Did you come here to try to convince me to move on as well?" John asked, straightening his shoulder as he watched several Robo-Scorpions crawl along the pathways below, looking for scrap metal to consume.

"If I had, would it have changed anything?" Ulysses asked in response, turning to glare at his brother-in-arms.

John thought about it, then shook his head. "Not in the slightest." He said in a low dismissive tone.

"Why do you torment what little remains of who you once were?" Ulysses's Legion anger seemed to be surfacing as he asked these question to his once great friend.

"Because the man I once was acted arrogantly and had blood lust dictate his life. Look where that got me: I couldn't stop the Watcher from killing Cass, I couldn't find a cure for your infection, and I couldn't stop Orion from killing Leon."

Ulysses raised an eyebrow. "So it's not hesitation. It's cowardice." His accusation got him knocked to the floor, with the Courier standing above him, nostrils flaring.

"Don't you dare call me that!" He yelled. "I did the impossible, I put my life on the line for New Vegas. All you did was sulk in your temple, trying to grasp something that was out of your reach."

Ulysses spit into his mask. "Maybe so, but you're no better. You, standing in this ghost waiting for something that will never come, and say what you want about me: I never gave up."

John turned away for a second, bitterly biting his lips. When he turned around with a response, Ulysses was gone, as suddenly as Cass. He looked from side to side, before remembering that his friend had been dead for years. What he was seeing now, whether they were ghosts or not, weren't really here. He was alone, completely and totally alone. For all he knew, he could have just been yelling at thin air.

Then, something happened he would never have expected. The proximity alarm sounded, the entire facility was alight with air raid sirens, calling out into the facility as the barrier that surrounded them seemed to be weakening. The Courier took a look to the north and saw that the shield was fluctuating in a very strange way. It wasn't a laser, it was some sort of signal crossing through the shields energy. Then as if it couldn't get stranger, three bright lights broke through the shield, having matched its energy level and crossing without difficulty. They set down not far from the barrier, creating a cloud of dust upon impact.

John watched from his perch, looking through the dust clouds trying to see who or what had just hit the facility.

"What in the world?" Deciding now would be as good a time as ever to take another suicide test, he threw himself over the railing and slid all the way down at impressive speeds before landing head first into the cement below. As predicted, he took a beating; his skull cracked open, spilling his green blood onto the pavement, his bones fractured all along his spine and legs, and his shoulders were nothing more than dust. Then, as he also predicted, they all fit back into place and he pulled himself back together in time to see movement in the clouds ahead. He drew a Multi-Plasma Rifle from his inventory, then pushed forward towards the clouds.

There was very little visibility as the energy bolts seemed to have generated a good deal of fires. John moved on with caution, clutching his rifle even though anything within the clouds couldn't keep him down for very long. There was movement to his left and right if the air brushing against his skin was anything to go by, yet John ignored it. He didn't care what had arrived with the bolts, he only really cared how they figured out the energy level of the shield, and even worse, matched it.

Before he could put much though into it however, an arc of electricity struck him from behind. John ground his teeth as the familiar sensation of pain began to rush him, but he did not take any real damage from it. That was the other horror of his immortality: He would never die from his various mechanisms and death machines, but he'd always feel the pain of using them. Suddenly, a beam of light, most likely from a laser, hit him in the shoulder, followed by a burst of rounds from what he thought was most likely a rapid-fire rifle. He ducked before any of the rounds actually hit him, but he could still feel the sting of the lasers and lightning that struck him before.

Suddenly, he felt something grab hold of his left shoulder and attempt to take a stab at him with a blade. Recognizing the tactic, he threw his other arm in the air and knocked the weapon from his hands, catching it mid-air and driving it back into the attacker's stomach. It was as he did this that he realized something, he still had yet to see his attacker, yet there was something very familiar about their fighting style. Suddenly, something in the very familiar shape of a tomahawk came cruising by his head, but he managed to toss himself out fo the way through the dust and the smoke before it hit. He heard it clang against something metallic before he passed swiftly out of the dust and back into the light, giving him clear visibility.

"Come out!" John yelled. "There was no answer, all was silent and calm yet again. I know you're there. Face me!" He yelled, still gazing at silhouettes in the darkness. Then the dust began to shift, something was moving closer to him. He raised his rifle in preparation, but hesitated once he saw what walked out.

They were modified, with more flexibility and self-preservation then the originals, white armor with a yellow visor instead of navy blue on slightly lighter blue, as well as the lack of the spider-like movement in favor of a more humanoid stance, but it was undeniable what they were: The Faction's Slayers. Machines he and Leon personally destroyed, yet here they were. Then again, Leon had kept some of the technology, so it wouldn't be far-fetched if he had kept the blueprints as well. However, Leon was dead, and the Confederacy had claimed everything that had once belonged to his failed insurrection.

"Target in sight." One of them said. "Eliminate." They suddenly took off sprinting, guns firing as they tried what so many others had tried and failed to do: Kill the Courier. John barely had time to react before one of them knocked a gun from his hands, leaving the second a clear line of sight to shoot at him with a Tri-Beam Laser Rifle knocking him back, before the third ran forward, the very same one he had drove a knife through earlier, and was now wielding the same blade: a super-heated Cosmic Knife. It took three swings at the Courier, one at the stomach, one at the neck, and one at the wrist. The first left a gash in both his Stealth-Suit and skin that was quickly filling with blood with his neck and wrists following suit. However, despite the wounds, the Courier would not die. A shot was taken by the first Slayer, who was holding a hand-cannon, and managed to knock him back to the ground, just in time for the third to pounce on top of him and begin savagely stabbing at him. With each thrust of the knife, the Slayer seemed to speed up his assault, cutting into every place a vital organ would be located until his had enough holes in his body to justify a firing squad's payroll. Yet, as he lay there, taking the hits, he did not die. He felt every searing cut, but he did not die.

The Slayer, becoming impatient, prepared to take a stab right at the head. Right before the blade would have reached its target, John made his move. With a powerful kick, the Slayer was pushed off into the concrete while the knife went flying through the air. John, acting fast, reached up and grabbed it. Before the Slayer could get back to its feet, John threw the knife right between the narrow slit that was its visor. Without a sound it fell to the ground dead, leaving John an opening. Spotting his Multi-Plas rifle on the ground nearby, he rolled over to it and placed his hand instinctively on the trigger, firing a short burst directly at the two remaining Slayers. One took the majority of the Plasma, quickly losing an arm and having a hole placed in its chest. With a new and improved VATS at his disposal, John took hold of a grenade from his inventory and tossed it right into the breach in the armor, taking cover as it exploded while running right at him.

With wounds healing and damages repaired, he made his move on the last enemy, which seemed to grasp that it could not win this fight. It began to move away, but the Courier did not give it the chance. He took a running leap at the creature, then brought his foot down on its metal head, causing the whole thing to tumble over and shatter its metal head on the floor. John slid on its skull plate for several meters before it eventually came to rest in a ditch, throwing him off at the same time. He landed on a nearby pipe, but it didn't slow him down as much as it used too. He got up, felt the remaining wounds of his close without so much as a sound before walking towards the Slayer he killed first, the one with the knife sticking out of its head. He pulled the knife out of its head and broke the saturnite based weapon in his hands with barely any effort. Then he looked at the sparking machine, glad to see that another change made was that there wasn't someone in it as that was a fate worse than death, but then he looked at the side of the helmet and grew angry as he saw what was painted on it.

His symbol: A golden 21 emblazoned over a spade.

He stood back up from his kneeling pose, raised his armored boot, and brought it right down with furious yell, splitting his head into a thousand fragments before walking back towards the dome, about to do something he thought he would never do again.

He was going to take a trip to Vegas.

* * *

Elsewhere however, things were no less interesting. At the very edge of New Vegas's border, a dust cloud was rolling towards the Confederacy at alarming speeds. It wasn't large, it wasn't ominous, but it definitely was moving pretty fast. It had come a long way, all the way from the irradiated farmlands of the Midwestern Wastes to reach its target. The cloud kept on rolling right by the rocks and the devastation that surrounded the war-torn borders of the Confederate Territories. It was going, going, going, then it suddenly came to a halt as it stumbled onto the desecrated remains of a Sand Marine Patrol. The cloud began to dissipate as metal clanked together, revealing that the cloud was in fact an old military Humvee, similar to the one New Vegas used. As the dust cleared, two people dressed in Advanced Power Armor stepped out, looking down at the dead marines while another stood on the 50. Cal Turret on the top of the Humvee. One of them went on lookout immediately, while the second began to examine the bodies, grabbing the dog tags of the soldiers while they were at it.

"What do you think, Commander?" The soldier on lookout asked, clutching a Gauss Rifle in his hands.

The Commander turned and looked at him after grabbing the remaining dog tags. "Clean kills, sadistic handiwork, yeah definitely our man." They replied with a distinctly feminine voice under a heavy air filter.

"Recent?" The Gunner asked.

"No." She replied. "Too much decay, this attack is at least a few months old. Whatever he's up too, he's heading towards California."

Both the lookout and the gunner looked at each other. The Lookout spoke up first. I'll call it in. He said, knowing what they were driving into.

"Do it. Let's move!" We might catch this bastard yet." The Commander got back into the silver Humvee, dropping the dog tags into the cup holder before revving the engine and taking off, the sunlight crashing against the symbol on their roof. The symbol of the Midwestern Brotherhood of Steel. Meanwhile the Lookout used the CB radio in the car to contact their command.

"This is Delta-Three. We have found the trail of the unknown assailant who attacked Bunker Gamma six months ago. We are in pursuit and on approach towards Nevada. We will report back when target is down. Over and out."


	6. Darkness

Okay, I feel I shouldn't have to make this statement again, considering how often I've made it in the past, but considering a guest review I got recently, I'm going to go ahead and say it: I do not tolerate trolling. If I get a review that just says "You suck or this is terrible or I want you to die" I am going to delete your review and tell you to go to hell. Unless you have something positive to say, or some genuine criticisms and/or concerns, don't review, there called reviews for a reason. They are not youtube comments where you can say whatever the hell you please. If you don't like my story, just don't read it. It's not hard.

* * *

CyberJordan: Yes, but again, the Courier isn't looking for bloodshed yet. He want's answers, not revenge, yet.

Yezmantheamatuer: Funny you should ask. Yes, he will for sure, but like Noah, not for sometime. Let's just say this chapter is the start of a new crisis, one that puts my others to shame.

Exile037: Yep, he sent them, but the Courier does not know that as he does not know the Adversary. That changes now.

* * *

Chapter 6

Darkness

New Vegas

It was a strange feeling for John, to return to the city he had abandoned, to the people he left behind. His first steps back into the Mojave were obviously in the Drive-In Theater, which had not changed in the slightest, but as he passed through the Mojave, glancing at once-abandoned towns and military bases. The hellish landscape was now ripe with life, as soldiers and civilians wandered the roads without so much as a glance in his direction, thinking he was just another traveler. One or two people would take a longer look at him, trying to put their finger on where they had seen him before, however, only one of them recognized him, and that person looked like he would pass out on the spot as he saw him. John was almost sure that man was now running towards the nearest town to begin screaming that the Courier had returned to the New Vegas Strip to reclaim his throne. He could only hope that word would not reach New Vegas, as those who held his answers would flee if they knew he was coming.

Then again, they might not. After all, they were smart enough to discover how to break through his shield and send advanced Slayers to try to kill him, so they may expect him to survive. They may be laying out a welcome mat in the form of an army ready to kill him. He hadn't been to Vegas for some time, so he didn't know how much the situation had improved or deteriorated, and frankly he didn't care. All he wanted was an explanation, but he kept having the feeling that he was going to get more than he bargained for, far more.

He was so deep in thought, he hadn't noticed how far he had traveled from the theater. He was standing not far from Novac, which had improved considering the number of people wandering the town. It had once been about 11, now there were at least two dozen in the main square, and they all were talking and shopping as they went from place to place as the day went on. John, knowing this was one obstacle he could easily avoid, went towards the town. Despite trying to keep a low profile, he figured he could take a look around, soak up some information while he was there. He walked towards the town unnoticed, except for a brief minute when he could see the barrel of Manny Vargas's Rifle aiming at him, then retreat just as quickly when he recognized the Courier.

He ignored Manny, then walked into the town center, unseen by most. He looked around at the restored buildings, the once faded wallpaper replaced by fresh paint, and the New Vegas flag fluttering proudly above the motel. He walked up the stairs of that very motel and found the door to his own room, still the same as when he left it, with a note on the door.

"Reserved for the day he returns." It said, the familiar handwriting of Cliff Briscoe giving the Courier a bit of a smile as he looked at the stamp of the New Vegas Confederacy on the wood below. He pulled out the key to the room from his key ring, something he had held onto for the longest time, then opened the door. When he entered, he discovered that it was the one room that had not changed. The walls were still faded, the blinds still closed, the dust in the air making a thin haze, and bed still old.

In a word: Perfect. This is how he liked it. Dark, gloomy, the spirit of the wastes. He sat down on the bed for a bit, resting his feet against a footlocker on the floor. He nudged it open while feeling the damp and dusty mattress. His foot hit something inside the locker, leading him to reach down and grab out a book: Lord of the Flies. First edition, miraculously still intact almost two-hundred years after the world burned down around it. The pages were rotted, the spine and cover were battered, but it was still readable and still as interesting as it was all that time ago. He flipped through the first few pages, skim reading, before placing it into his inventory. He looked around the dusty room, cherishing the memories he had of the place, before remembering his goals. With that he walked out of the motel, locking the door, as he went. However, he couldn't resist leaving a message. He flipped the note that Cliff Briscoe had stuck to the door and wrote in bold lettering: "I have returned."

* * *

A good 12 hours of walking later, he found himself at New Vegas's North gates, but he hesitated as he was ready to push them open in the night. It felt like yesterday he had done this for the very first time in pursuit of vengeance, now here he was again. He had to wonder what lay beyond the gates from here on, what world had been created in what he had left behind, but just as soon as the hesitation arrived, it left. It left because he remembered what Ulysses had said, and he was determined to prove them wrong. With his strength and force, he opened it wide, welcoming the shining lights of New Vegas into his gaze once more.

Once he had come here with excitement and happiness, watching the glamour and flare of Sin City flash before him invitingly, allowing him into either paradise or damnation. Now, however, he saw clearly. It certainly was inviting, it certainly was flashy, and it certainly was amazing, but he saw the familiar taint of greed staining those very lights. Things had changed that was certain. As with Freeside, all the walls were repainted, the windows and lights repaired and cleaned, and the roads were paved and fresh, yet beneath it all there was nothing, just an empty void of greed and pain. To liken back to an earlier metaphor, he had once been torn between whether this was heaven or hell, now he knew exactly which one it was.

This place was hell. There was no doubt about it. No matter how much it concealed its true nature, New Vegas would always be a hell of its own creation.

Apparently, John's hopes in his presence being masked were misplaced. As he walked forward into the Strip, dozens of pairs of eyes began to look in his direction, as if he was the sheriff on his way to a gunfight. They all knew his face, they all knew his name, and they all knew to fear him. They watched him walk by in silence, stopping to watch him walk by, paralyzed by fear. Some would ask whether they had just seen a ghost, but the truth was they hadn't. They hadn't seen a ghost, they had seen the devil himself.

He ignored their wide eyed stares and quivering mouths, walking towards the Lucky 38. He would occasionally glance in the direction of one of his self-proclaimed audience and dismiss them. He didn't care what they thought of him, but it was only when he began to open the door to the Lucky 38 he realized just how much of an impact his arrival had on every day life in the city. There was nothing making a sound but the whistle of the wind, an old Nat King Cole Song playing in the background, and his footsteps pressing against metal and stone.

He took one last glance from the threshold of the Lucky 38, which opened up when he held up the Platinum Chip, recognizing that it's long missing leader had returned. He opened the interior doors, entered the casino floor, and vanished from the people's eyes as quickly as he arrived. The people outside were struck by shock, some took off to spread the word of his return, others to begin flushing that memory away with a rush of beer. No matter what they did, none could deny the truth of his return, and none could expect what changes he would usher in.

* * *

The Lucky 38 was another thing that hadn't changed much. It wasn't as dusty as before, but it was still faded and old, capturing the spirit of the old world all the while maintaining the attitude of the New World. The Courier felt a little strange with the Securitrons gone, as he had recalled them to Big MT. when he abandoned the Mojave before, but what had troubled him was the lack of the New Vegas Honor Guard or even the Sand Marines. There was not a single soldier here and the Courier quickly took that as a sign that something was wrong. He understood that Veronica was now in charge of the Confederacy, but that didn't change the fact that this was odd. She of all people would understand the value of having security on stand-by if necessary, yet this place was somehow even more quiet then the Strip when he entered through the gates. That was when he realized that there was not a Sand Marine on the Strip either, not even a basic scout or guerilla fighter.

The elevator doors opened with a thud, just as they always had, and he stepped in uneasily. The doors closed with a screech and a few sparks before lifting upwards, slow as it always was. He felt increasingly uneasy, to the point where he was drawing a LAER in anticipation of what lay in wait for him. His repaired Stealth Suit gave a brief status update on his biological condition, saying something about an "an elevated heart rate indicating that he was experiencing higher then average levels of anxiety." All it really boiled down to was that he was impatient for this. He began to inhale even more toxins from his Rebreather, before the doors began to slowly slide open yet again. He stepped out, watching the doors shut behind him as the Lucky 38 seemed to become an increasingly hostile place. The lights were out, there was not a soul to be seen inside the penthouse, and the moon began to shine through the tower windows with an almost troubling light.

He took a few brief glances around the dark room and was almost glad he had been impatient as this would be a perfect place for an ambush. He pulled his legs into the main room and terminal, which also happened to be the single darkest place in the entire penthouse, but through that darkness he could easily make out the silhouette of Armored Robes behind a dim screen that seemed to be playing archive footage. Specifically, archive footage of the Courier's various adventures across the Mojave.

"Veronica..." He muttered. He slowly walked down the stairs, still cautious as he watched the unmoving figure of Veronica gaze into the screen. He stopped in the middle of the room, looking directly at Veronica.

"Hello Courier." She said in monotone, further unsettling the usually cold Courier. "You have returned to New Vegas. Why?" She said again, with a blank and lifeless expression reflected in the monitor.

The Courier remained cautious, a look of insecurity on his face. "I came for answers. I know Andrew reported into you, told you exactly what my demands were. Yet, the very next day..." His mind made the connection that she was speaking without emotion and had yet to turn and face him, which made things even more disturbing to an almost frightening degree. "The very next day I get certain soldiers," He put extra emphasis on the word soldier, "attacking my home. Mind explaining why?" Veronica didn't seem to acknowledge that he had said anything. "Veronica! Answer me!"

She eventually replied, but not in the way he expected. "Do you remember this battle, Courier?" Her monotone voice called, yet again avoiding his real name in favor of Courier. Something that was eating at him, especially considering the friends they used to be. It was as she said those words that he noticed what was playing on the screen: The footage of the Third Battle for Hoover Dam. Specifically, he was watching that footage of the Courier and Lone Wanderer (John Hollister and Leon Stinger) clashing on the wall shortly after the dam was retaken. Each shot and slash made memories hit John like a Super-Sledge in the hands of the angriest Super-Mutant.

"This was the day you were broken forever, wasn't it Courier?" She continued to speak as if she was taunting him, even though there was not a hint of emotion in her voice. She began to turn to face him, the Courier too busy watching the footage to notice. "You destroyed every part of his body, every bone was dust, every organ slush, and his psyche was shattered. Nothing remained of the Lone Wanderer, there was simply the Man Out of Time. Nothing remained of you either, there was no longer John Hollister, there was only the Courier."

John's insecurity changed on a dime as she said those words, now he was holding something more along the lines of a bitter curiosity then anything else.

"Why are you asking me these things?" He asked.

"I do what I am told. I obey my lord." She said, facing him directly now, her face devoid of feeling and carrying nothing but a void.

What are you talking about? Who did this to you? John asked, his face becoming increasingly frightened as he realized she wasn't acting out of his free will. For moments there was silence, but at the same time, he could feel tension materializing in the air as though something was lurking just of sight, creeping up on him. Unfortunately, that was exactly what was going on. The lights flashed on in an instant, without warning, and the Courier barely had time to turn around to see a fist deliver a punch directly into his upper chest, inflicting more pain then he had felt in a very long time, with his nervous systems not responding to his orders. He couldn't move as he looked straight up into a face he had never seen before, one that few still alive ever had.

The Adversary.

"Welcome home, Courier."


	7. Homefront

Well, I'm back again. Still working at the speed of light here. That was slightly hampered by the existence of a game that I bought on Steam for twenty bucks. It's an RPG called Shadowrun Returns, based on the old pen-and-paper game if any of you ever played that. Any fans of the original Fallout should definitely play it, because the controls and gameplay are pretty much the same, with a hint of X-COM thrown in there. The story's pretty good and overall the game is solid. Definitely try it out it's a lot of fun, if a bit short. I fired it off in a weekend.

* * *

CyberJordan: You may be surprised what the Adversary does. It's not what you expect, I can tell you that. What he's going to do after this however...

NCRMC: Thanks!

Slovous: Well, here you go, I guess. Hope you enjoy.

DeathbladeVI: Yeah, I suppose so. They'll be showing up soon enough, with a fairly violent arrival, and you are very right, he won't die anytime soon.

Yezmantheamatuer: My incredibly twisted mind? Yeah, there will actually be a lot more new locations then you think. It will be a fun time.

Exile037: He's on his own. He's going to be for awhile.

* * *

Chapter 7

Homefront

The next thing the Courier knew after seeing the Adversary, he was being held up by his arms and legs, with a searing pain in both his hands and feet. He looked around, noticing he was still in his Stealth Suit yet his Rebreather was missing. His hands could only shiver in pain as he looked around. The room he was in was made entirely of metal, he could tell that much, and that the door on the far end of the room, sealed tight if the red lights were anything to go by. He twisted his neck to take a look at his hands and feet, to see two large and rusted nails driven through the palm of his hands and one other large rusted nail piercing his feet which were crossed over each other.

"For the love of god." He muttered in frustration.

"Considering you're still alive, something tells me god never loved you." A voice said from the shadows, perhaps taking the phrase a little too literally.

John stopped struggling to free himself from his makeshift crucifix for a second to see who was speaking to him. To absolutely no one's surprise, it was the Adversary, who was showing an unusual smile.

"You again..." John mumbled, barely audible even in this silent room. He didn't bother hiding it; he had no idea what he was dealing with.

"The one and only." He said, stepping a few inches closer. John began to try and figure out exactly who he was dealing with, looking up and down at the Adversary, who had donned a Bounty Hunter Duster and was twirling something in between his fingers. The expression on his face, a mix of confusion, curiosity, and rage, did not escape the Adversary, who was beginning to lose his smile. "You don't know me do you?"

John grimaced at his enemy, but noticing that his chance of escape weren't exactly high, decided to go along with this, perhaps in hopes of getting a few of his precious answers along the way.

"No." It was a simple answer, one that anyone could have anticipated, but for whatever reason it made the Adversary angry.

"Nothing? Not even my name?" He asked from afar, beginning to bite his lip.

"No."

The Adversary took another few steps closer, to within arms length of the Courier. Would this jog your memory? He revealed what he had twirled between his fingers: Leon's Black Saturnite Blade, the very one used against Orion at the final battle under the Rocky Mountains, and one the Courier had in his inventory not long ago.

"I found this after you blacked out. It was faint, but I could still see the familiar taint of an old friend on it. He began to pace back and forth in front of the Courier. I'm surprised that the Lone Wanderer never mentioned me. It almost hurts. Almost."

John's eyes widened. "How do you know Leon?" He question, his hoarse voice catching his enemy's attention.

"We were... Opponents of a sort. We were never directly fighting each other, at least not a first. I tested his resolve, he tried to destroy me for it. It's a very long story, one that very few are still alive to tell, and one that will end soon enough." He stopped for a moment directly in front of him, then took the blade and lodged it in the Courier's chest multiple times, blood dripping out onto the floor with every passing second, John screaming as he did, feeling the all too familiar sting of a dying heart.

"I've met so many people, so many cultures, and so many legends, but never a man who will not die." He withdrew the blade and placed it in his pocket, before suddenly grasping the Courier's head with both of his icy hands, looking right into the Courier's startled eyes. "Understand this. No matter how long it takes, I will find what keeps you alive. However long it takes, however many trips to the grave, I will find it and I swear... I will end you." The Adversary let go with a grunt and marched out of the room, the doors locking yet again as he did.

Now hanging alone, in pain physically and damaged psychologically, John had to find a way to escape. He still didn't know who he was dealing with, not even a name, only a disturbingly calm face and an agenda. Yet none the less he knew escape was his only option. Despite that he wanted to die he was willing to place that goal on the sidelines for the time being. One of his closest friends and the leader of the most powerful nation left standing following the Great War was a puppet of a sadistic madman, an enemy he knew nothing about save for some previously unknown connection with the long-dead Lone Wanderer.

The Courier's right hand slid forward towards the head of the rusted nail, forcing more blood to surface through the whole in his palm. He pushed on the nail as much as he could, but his hands just managed to quiver from lack of strength as his body was going through it's healing process, moving the nail only a few centimeters out. It had been a few hours at least since he was knocked out, and while his older wounds had healed, the wounds inflicted upon him by the Blade were still trying to close.

"Damn it." He muttered. John looked forward towards the door and the empty room, trying to think of a way out this situation. He couldn't afford to wait for very long, as there was no telling just how deranged and/or brilliant the Adversary was, at least not for him. With all his strength, he managed to move the massive nail out of the wall, but still leaving it lodged in his hand. Clenching his teeth around the rust flakes decorating the nail, he pulled it from his hands, allowing his hand to fully heal.

Taking initiative through the very same rage he was trying to escape, he took grasp of the other nail and pulled it out of his hand, before removing the one in his feet as well, crumbling into the floor face first. Hands clenched in fists, he pushed himself up, then began to stumble towards the door with his bleeding feet closing there wounds as he fell against the door, his Stealth-Suit not functioning properly, so cloaking wasn't an option now. Noting that this door didn't have a standard lockpick, he figured he'd make use of his technical skills. He broke off the panel that shielded the door controls before clipping the wires inside. It was a standard Rob-Co design, so it wasn't exactly difficult. He had managed to do things like this on his Pip-Boy all the time. After a few sparks and broken mechanisms, he managed to force the door open and then proceeded to pull all the circuits out and crush them in his hands, jamming the door into the open position.

With only three nails as weapons, he creeped into the halls in front of him, expecting to find guards and the most advanced security systems left in the world, but no. Instead what he found was a metal corridor, dusty and rusted from years of neglect. There was no one here to stop him, not even a turret to shoot at him, yet he did not move. There was something eerie about this place. Something that felt off. He had set foot in every cesspool the wasteland had to offer him; this was not one of them. He pulled up his Pip-Boy and took a look at the date: It was the same. Yet this wasn't the Big Empty, it wasn't the Divide, it certainly wasn't the Sierra Madre, and it definitely wasn't Zion. So where could he be?

In search of that answer, he crossed this corridor ahead and several others, coming across bent metal, wrecked foundations, and trashed computers that had long since been claimed by the passage of time. This wasn't a result of the Great War, this building seemed to pre-date even that. The computers were old, older then the terminals he had seen as they had a tower next to them that seemed to have what looked almost like movie film inside of it. The walls were rusted and the floor was damp, the feeling of radiation tingling off the skin was present as well. In a sense it was both extremely familiar and entirely alien to him.

It wasn't until he found a great mechanism that opened something that seemed very similar to a Vault Door that he realized exactly where he was. The Adversary had made it seem like he was far away from home, far from help, and far from any escape. The truth of the matter was that he was far closer than expected, especially when he gazed at the sigil on the door.

Lucky 38.

In bold bright letters, glaring in front of him, he finally understood where he was: The Vaults below the Lucky 38, where the fortunes of Rob Co. and the now deceased Mr. House once stored all his riches in preparation for the oncoming storm that was the Great War. No doubt they were looted away during Mr. House's coma, now these Vaults served as a reminder of what Vegas was. The city where fortunes could be won and lost in the blink of an eye, sometimes to a gruesome end.

Acting on memory, he hacked into the terminal on the side of the wall, the one that would normally only open for House himself. The door opened with a loud creak and he slipped out, without anyone noticing, at least from what he could tell. He managed to shuffle towards the elevator, only to discover the doors had been dislodged from the frame and the actual elevator had been reduced to a pile of scrap on the floor of the Elevator Shaft

_That's why he wasn't guarding the place._ John thought, angrily wondering why he didn't realize it earlier. The cables were still dangling and sparking, indicating that they would kill most ordinary man with enough volts to kill fifty. Luckily for him, it would take the full power of the sun itself to even give him a chance of dying, something that the Courier quietly filed away in the back of his mind, prompted to test that theory if the opportunity arose.

He took grasp of the cables, feeling a brief jolt hit him before he began to climb. For the most part it was not a difficult proposition, the climb, as his grasp was strong and firm, not slipping in the slightest as he scaled upwards. Occasionally for a feeling of balance he would swing the rope into the wall of the shaft and use it as a bungee cord, scaling the wall as if it was a cliff. Past that however it was a standard rope climb, just with the added twist of the rope being electrified and connected to a building that was under the control of lunatic and his puppet leader.

After some time, his feet hit something that sounded hollow; the casino door. At first he was relieved, having reached his exit, then he came to the understanding that past climbing the cable he didn't have a plan. To be able to open the door, he would have to let go of the rope, and if he let go of the rope he would fall straight into a pile of sharp metal and scrap that had once been an elevator. A problematic situation to say the least. One that wasn't assisted by what he eventually came to believe was a solution.

He kicked off from the door and swung backwards, then fell forward, feet held together, and kicked the door. There was a loud thump and a dent, but not one significant enough for him to break through. He continued that process again and again until the door was banged up enough that he could force his way through, he swung back one last time, then threw himself from the rope shoulder first. Where most others would have just created a medium sized dent before falling to his death, these doors broke open in there dented state, remaining attached to the frame but now wide open. As for the Courier, he was lying at the bottom on the Casino Floor with a bleeding head and a broken arm, both of which were the least of his worries.

John pulled himself to his feet and stumbled out the door as his vision cleared once again. The lights of Vegas were still blinding, but now the sunrise was on the horizon, and soon enough the Adversary would come looking for his prisoner for a session of torture and agony.

How did the Adversary get down to him if the elevator was out? That was something that hadn't occurred to him until now, possibly out of stress, possibly out of ignorance. There were no other routes to the basement and the Vaults, yet he had done it, the question was how? As quickly as he had thought of that, he realized that at this point it didn't really matter. He was out of the Vaults and he was out of the Adversary's reach for now. He had to return to the Big Empty and begin working out a plan. There was so much to this he didn't understand, but he had to devise some type of counter-measure. Some kind of edge, one that quite frankly he wasn't sure he had.

* * *

He would be even less confident if he had seen what he had passed upon exiting the north gates: A miniature camera feeding footage right back to the Lucky 38 command center. From there, the Adversary had seen the entire escape, as little as there was to watch, and was honestly impressed. He had proven himself willing to suffer if it meant reaching his goal, although he wasn't sure that had always been John's resolve, more than likely he adopted that one.

Your friend is proving to be an elusive prey. Just as I like it. It will make the kill all the sweeter. The Adversary said as he watched the monitors, Veronica sitting mindlessly nearby.

"Many have tried to kill the Courier, my lord." She said, looking at the Adversary. "All of them failed."

"Perhaps," The Adversary replied, "but I am not them. Unlike those who have come before, I understand my enemy: He is broken. He is nothing but a shadow of a man. He has nothing, yet he still walks on in search of something he may never find. In a way, he is just like me. In another world, we may have been brothers, walking the same path. Perhaps... we still could be." The Adversary seemed to drift off in thought, almost with a sense of reverence for a moment, then came back to reality. "No, I suppose not. I can't forgive him and he won't forgive me for the things that I have done... He reached into his pocket, pulling something forth, and flashing it between his fingers."

The Platinum Chip

"Or the things that I can do." The Adversary closed his fist around the chip, his eyes grimacing with pain at old wounds, and words left his lips in the same philosophical way they always did, only this time they came off bitter and somber.

"For now the game has begun and it's the Courier's turn to play. Let's see what move he makes."


	8. Reflection

All right, extremely short chapter this time around, mainly because this was originally suppose to be part of the previous chapter, but I split it in two for effect. Hope you enjoy.

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Oh, a brief apology to the guest user, Krichnerdan, because his reviews keep getting caught in my Moderate folder for a while before I am able to reply.

CyberJordan: Well, as you may have noticed this story is a little more unpredictable than the last, so nothing is ever set it stone. But you're right, this game is going to escalate. Fast.

Yezmantheamatuer: They are evenly matched at a firm 10 if that puts perspective on the scale of the problem.

Exile037: Well, as always I press on.

* * *

Chapter 8

Reflections

Big MT.

When the Courier stumbled inside the dome again after escaping Freeside, it felt more like home then ever. He tumbled through the door, disoriented from the Transportalponder. He managed to make his way into the Bedroom where he crashed into the mat]tress without hesitation. He rolled over on the clean sheets and pillows, rubbing his temples while making pained grunts. He was still trying to wrap his head around what was happening to the world, who he was dealing with, his connection to Leon, and what this was all about. If they had been enemies, why was he so hell-bent on destroying the man who killed him? Even that was something to debate, as it had not been the Courier who killed Leon in the first place. It was someone whose name the Courier would never speak again, which made things even more strange to him.

"Why is this happening?" He muttered. "Why?" It was as he was muttering and watching the ceiling that he heard something from one of the other rooms. Like a plate falling to the floor and shattering. John stood up, pulling a modified 10mm pistol out from under his nightstand, and walked towards the kitchen, where the Biological Research Station and the Sink stood silent, not speaking a single word. They couldn't talk anymore, for John had long since scrubbed their personality chips clean. They existed simply to work as lifeless machines now, something even John had no regrets over. Even the central CPU was silent now, having been silenced by the Courier long ago.

Which, all in all, is why the Courier's heart nearly stopped when a voice called behind him. "Still hiding in the darkness, I see." It said with a familiar sadistic charm. "I'm surprised you're still standing after all you put yourself through."

John turned without hesitation, instinctively raising the pistol and firing a shot not far from his targets head, or in this case, his skull.

"Lazarus." John identified, looking directly at his old enemy turned friend. "What are you doing here?"

Not far from John stood Lazarus, last survivor of the Dark Crucible, the renegade who was willing to betray his own kind for the greater good. He looked different from last time. Rather then his usual bear robot skeleton and metal armor, he had a type of synthetic skin colored to look as though he was African-American, with shining blue eyes but no eyebrows, or hair at all for that matter. He didn't have any fingerprints, finger nails or any real changes on the perfectly smooth and featureless skin. It wasn't a perfect disguise for the machine underneath, as there were no lips, his nose lacked nostrils, and he was missing ears, but in a world as messed up and damaged as the one they lived in, that could easily be written off as a mutation.

"Shouldn't you be with your girlfriend at the Syndicate?" John asked, spitefully.

Lazarus frowned as he straightened his coat. "First off, Phantom is not my girlfriend. I'm not even sure how that would work." Lazarus shook his head with a shiver. "Secondly, I'm here to speak to you."

John lowered his pistol. "This is not a good time for me Lazarus. I'm having problems of my own. He paused for a moment, realizing his poor choice of words. In addition to the ones I usually have."

"Really? Do tell." Lazarus said sarcastically.

John's response was to flare his nostrils at the machine. "Humor doesn't suit you Lazarus."

"I disagree." He replied, good-naturedly. Something that only managed to enrage John even further. Eventually, after a tense silence that followed, Lazarus caved. "I'll shut up."

"Good idea, makes things easier." John replied. Now, what did you want?

"I'm, for lack of a better term, investigating some loose ends left over from the Last Revolution." He explained.

"And?" John was obviously not in the mood for this. His bitter expression and anger being obvious signs of that.

"And what?"

"You wouldn't come to me for simple loose ends." The Courier declared.

Lazarus looked side to side, then spoke again. "I found something: a facility hidden under Yellowstone Park. I'm not sure what's there, but considering it's a Supremacy One installation I didn't build, it's bound to have something there."

John shook his head in frustration. "That still doesn't explain why you came here. You alone could have easily gotten inside, not to mention the army you have at your command."

"That's the thing. I did send a team of Syndicate Operatives there, but... They dropped off the map. Last transmission I got from them indicated they had met an unexpected problem. That was eight days ago. I figured you of all people would like to get a crack at whatever's inside, especially if it was able to kill my men."

Under any other circumstances, John would have leapt at the chance of discovering something new about the projects that were undertaken by Supremacy One, but considering the situation...

"No." He said, with a sense of finality. "Like I said Lazarus, I've got my own problems to deal with, and if you can believe it, they're more dire than Supremacy One."

Lazarus shook his head in disbelief, as if the sky had just fallen in on his head. "What in the hell has happened to you?"

That phrase caused John to snap. "Well, where do I start? I can't die, my only remaining friend has been taken control of by a megalomaniac who has a twisted agenda with me, and said megalomaniac is now trying to destroy me. That sum it up well enough for you?!" That snap in particular rendered the entire room silent. Neither of them spoke for a time, which ultimately ended with Lazarus nodding.

"I'm sorry Lazarus, but I can't do anything to help you right now. Although, I need to give you a word of caution. Stay away from Vegas for now. Have the Syndicate remain hidden for a while."

Lazarus nodded, taking note of that warning. "I understand. My offer stands if you change your mind." With that, he headed walked out of the Sink, presumably to teleport back out of the Big Empty, with Lazarus being one of the few people who could figure out how to get in and out without complication.

John on the other hand, decided to take a rest for a while, setting the shield barrier to randomize its power output at will, so that the Adversary couldn't attempt another breach. He walked into his bathroom, changing his clothes, and washing up a little, although it really didn't help considering the amount of scars on his skin. He noticed that some of his hair was growing back on his face, something that only happened every so often. He quickly pulled out one of his old cutthroat razors and began shaving. It didn't take him long and when he was done, he splashed some water on his face to clean it off. Grabbing a towel to dry off, he took one look in the mirror and let it fall to the floor. His expression turned to terror, his eyes began to fill with fright, and his chapped lips began to quaver.

To everyone else, when they looked in a mirror, they would see a reflection of themselves. What he was seeing is something that he just couldn't let go of. Something truly frightening to behold: He saw the face of Orion, smiling at him as if to start laughing. John quickly drove his fist into the mirror, shattering the glass without a problem. He took hold of his chest, breathing heavily, the familiar sensation of a panic attack setting in. His mind was playing tricks on him, at least he hoped so, but he couldn't do much about it now. He stepped out of the room, grasping his chest with his Pip-Boy and lying down on the bed. As his heart rate slowly descended back to normal levels, he realized perhaps he wasn't ready to just let a oppurtunity pass him by. At least that's what he hoped his conscience was telling him, as the alternative was disturbing in an indescribable way.

He stood back up, realizing what he had to do, then walked into the main room.

"Computer," he started hesitantly with a tone that made him feel like he would regret this, "send a message to Lazarus. Tell him I'll meet him at Yellowstone tomorrow." The computer gave an affirmative beep, and the Courier took a deep breath.

"This is not my day." He muttered. He had to wonder what else could go wrong for him now. As it turned out, almost everything.

* * *

Not far from Big MT. A familiar hummer was lying in the shadow of the desert sun, monitoring the gigantic energy dome. They had made no attempts to get closer, but they were far from done with it. It of course was the Midwestern Brotherhood soldiers, clad in Power Armor and listening in on whatever they could. They had seen Lazarus's departure in the form a blue ray of light screeching away from the barrier and were now even more interested in what lay behind the veil of light and energy.

"Commander, should we move in?" The gunner asked, aiming his turret directly at the dome.

The commander didn't reply, simply watching the dome pulsate in the distance. She seemed mesmerized by it, but after a while responded.

"No. We need to do some reconnaissance. Scout it out before we attempt to get inside." She replied. The former Lookout was inside the Hummer, messing around with a portable terminal, when he intercepted something interesting: The message sent to Lazarus.

"Commander!" He yelled. "I got something."

"What is it?" She asked in response, walking over to the Lookout.

"Transmission leaving the dome. Says they are going to rendezvous at Yellowstone at 03:00."

"Yellowstone?" Asked the Gunner. "What the hell could they want there?"

"Doesn't matter." The Commander replied, her voice firm. "No doubt this transmission will be intercepted by more than just us. This may be the break we need. It might draw out our man."

"And if it doesn't?" The Lookout asked.

"Then we'll at least have who he's looking for. Let's go! I want to reach Yellowstone before nightfall."

"Yes ma'am." The other two replied. With that, the engine revved and the wheels began to turn, and they were on the road to Yellowstone, not knowing what they might find or what may lay in wait.


	9. Cataclysm

Well, my progress was slightly halted in these recent weeks. Mainly because of three reasons. 1. Being incredibly busy. 2. This is a long chapter. 3. I picked up Grand Theft Auto V and since I've grown a Castaway Beard and matching hair. So yeah, I would gladly recommend it to anyone who want's to have a fun time or needs to take out their frustrations on something. Good either way.

Anyhow, here's the new chapter.

* * *

CyberJordan: Umm... Well just read and see what happens. You might be surprised what exactly happens.

Vino213: Good to see you again. I'm glad you're enjoying it.

DeathbladeVI: Thank you very much. I'm not stopping anytime soon.

Yezmantheamatuer: That's their relationship in a nutshell. Niether is willing to admit it, but they are friends, and they would put there lives on the line to help each other.

Kirchnerdan: Yeah, I haven't had an issue with it in awhile, so I think everything's going all right. The battery was definitely loose, but there were other issues unrelated to that. Also, I do enjoy causing nightmares... Hehe.

Enclavefan12: Thank you. I can't forget the heritage of this story can I?

* * *

_**Word of caution, this chapter might be a little over the top. Please forgive me if, to use an old saying, it's not your usual cup of tea.**_

* * *

Chapter 9

Cataclysm

The next morning, under the gloom of the still present night, John made due on his promise. He crossed the threshold of the Yellowstone Crater, entering what had once been a natural wonder of the world, all turned to ash by the fires of the war. The trees were lifeless husks, decayed and burned by the invisible flames of radiation and the real fires of the bomb, the grass was brown and crumbling, the road's pavement had cracked and broken, and the evidence of mankind's preservation was all but erased. All in all it was a gloomy and grim sight, but one that John ignored as he traversed through the devastation. The dead grass crunched underfoot as he marched onwards, the occasional Raven flying between the broken trees and adding to the already grim situation.

He was surprised this much of the park was still intact, if dead or in ruins, all things considered. He would have thought that the reign of terror caused by the bombs and the subsequent toxic rain would have left nothing standing, which was true in a sense, seeing as though all the remaining human structures had rotted away. One thing was certain though, there was no life here. Nothing, not even a plant was growing, anything that was inside Yellowstone was not native to it. Something that gave John pause for thought. If he could traverse the crater without issue, there was no doubt that animals or raiders could as well. Something that was confirmed when after a few hours he stumbled onto the desecrated body of what was probably once a raider. It was hard to tell what the pile of flesh had once been, but it was simple enough to tell what killed it.

_Yao Guai_. John thought back to Zion Canyon and the horrors that the Ghost of She had inflicted upon the local tribals. Soon enough, one of said horrors was charging through the woods, knocking down dead trees as it went. John stood up, drawing his Plasma Rifle, the Magnetic Accelerator pulsating on the end, as he aimed at the beast. For a moment it looked like it was just one giant Yao Guai, but with a quick glance it became clear there was more than one. He counted two, then three, then four, before capping out at five. Five Yao Guai heading right at him.

He powered up VATS and took aim, locking onto the heads of the first two and releasing the trigger, firing off two bursts of green that raced across the crater towards the approaching animals. The first one melted away into nothing but a pile of sludge on the floor, while the second managed to avoid being killed but still took a hit to the leg, causing it to fall and tumble into the ground, moaning painfully as it did. The other three were still in a charge, leading the Courier to raise his rifle once more. He took out one more of them from a distance, wasting his Microfusion Cell in the process. He drew a Katana in response to the final charging bear, which opened it's mighty jaw in rage as it neared. Taking advantage of the angle at which he was being approached at, he drove the sword right across the jaw, severing it from the creature's head. It cried in agony for a moment, before John shot it through the back of the head with a Revolver.

Examining his work for a moment, he realized that the other bear that had taken the Plasma bolt to the legs had yet to die. It moaned, crying out as it's pack lay dead around it. The Courier walked closer as it looked at him fearfully, moaning, and that's when John realized how small this one was by comparison to the others.

_It's a cub._ He realized in his mind. _Crying for its mother._ He looked down at the foot, which was bleeding heavily, but could still be fixed. He threw the backpack he had on his back over his shoulder, looking through his bag as the bear continued to cry out. Rather then pull forward a pistol or dagger to finish off the bear, he pulled out some first-aid supplies, typical of a combat medic, and began to get closer to the creature as it did not pose a threat to him in this state. He pulled out some fluid to clean out the wound, not actually sure what to do in this situation as he lacked the skill to fix animals, but figured that his skills in treating human wounds could at least be somewhat transferable. He poured a bit of alcohol onto the bear's bleeding leg, the creature panicking and screaming as he did, before pulling out a roll of bandages and wrapping them around the wound with hope that it would help the poor thing, although his use of the word poor may have been out of guilt.

"It'll be all right_._" He said to the Yao Guai Cub, rummaging through his bag for something. He ended up pulling out an old thing of Brahmin Meat he had brought along and tossed it to the cub. The cub sniffed it suspiciously while looking up at the Courier, then licked it to be sure it wasn't a trick, before swallowing it whole. It tried to stand up, but fell back down almost immediately, unable to support itself, before crying out again.

"I know it hurts." He said, sadly watching it's turmoil. "Believe me, I've had the same thing happen to me." For what it was worth, his words seemed to at least let the bear calm down. John didn't seem to care that he was talking to a creature that couldn't understand a word he said and was probably plotting to kill him as he spoke. "I'm John." He said, almost as if he was expecting a response.

"I know who you are." A voice said from afar. "I'm wondering why you're helping an animal." As quickly as he spoke, Lazarus walked from behind the trees clad in Recon Armor and watching the Courier treat the young Yao Guai. "I thought we we're here on a search, not to help the poor forest creatures."

John gave Lazarus a cold stare, angrily scowling at him moments later. "I'd rather kill myself then leave anything helpless." John declared.

"It seems like you would want to kill yourself more then a lot of things nowadays, John." Lazarus claimed, walking closer to the Courier as he helped the Yao Guai to it's feet. "Can we get going? You know, before someone turns on a doomsday device?" John looked back at Lazarus for a moment, then looked back to find that the Yao Guai was limping off.

"Yeah, let's go." John said, regaining his composure. "Might as well see what other chaos might erupt."

"Tends to happen when we're around doesn't it?" Lazarus's joke was not appreciated considering the circumstances, but John had to admit he thought it was clever at the least. His joke was forgotten amidst the sounds of boots crunching along the ground as they marched towards the location of the Supremacy One base. Fallen trees in there path presented no problem with John's inability to feel pain and Lazarus's uncanny spiderlike agility while the radiation that flooded the crater and bathed there bodies could not hurt either of them. They faced no challenge in reaching the base, which in standard Supremacy One fashion started out as nothing more then a hatch in the ground, eerily reminding John of his first experience with the group. He and Lazarus climbed down the ladder cautiously as they made there way into the steel relic.

Once they reached the bottom of the ladder, they both activated there equivalent of a flashlight. John turned on his Pip-Boy while Lazarus's robotic eyes provided low-light vision. They cautiously advanced with weapons drawn, looking around at the metal walls and old rusted pipes that decorated the walls. The floor panels were cracked, the ceiling was rusted, and the power cables were sparking, all of which the results of years of abandonment. There was no sign of any computers or any sort of technology, which was odd considering what power mad lunatics ran this place. They usually were almost cartoonish with there villainous aims, holding the holy trinity of evil lairs: High tech computer monitors, bright lights, and incredibly clean and well-kept rooms. There was none of this, but they did happen to notice something rather troubling.

"Why the hell is it so hot in here?" Lazarus asked, not directly addressing John as they searched around the room for a door. Being a being of metal, he conducted heat, and it was driving him insane.

John wasn't exactly worried about him. "Not sure." John replied. "Does it matter?"

"Yeah, it kind of does. You do remember what kind of people built this place right?"

The Courier turned around from the other end of the room and looked right at Lazarus through the darkness, his eyes tracing the outline of the machine from head to toe. "Of course. I'm looking right at one of them."

"Ha." Lazarus muttered bitterly in response. He didn't like still being associated with his former brothers and sisters as they committed atrocities that could not be forgiven, something he was no stranger too either. However, he was the only one interested in redeeming himself, something he wanted almost as much as the Courier wanted death. There conversation was brought to a sudden close when John's hand drifted onto a handle to a door, another strange thing considering Supremacy One was mostly run through more advanced machinery, most of which made using doorknobs inefficient as strange as that sounded. John turned the knob, opening the door it was attached too, allowing light to flow into the room. It was dim and flickering but it was light, which was an improvement. Lazarus walked up to him and they advanced through the doorframe, still cautious about what lay at the end of the corridor in front of them.

The heat persisted as they advanced through the bland corridor, whose most significant feature was the dust floating around the room, looking almost as angry as Lazarus was at the heat. They opened the door at the other end of the hall to find another dim room, but this one had more then just pipes and damaged metal. It had old terminals, larger than normal in the fashion of the late 2060's, while the walls were actually gigantic hatches, capable of opening. Lazarus and John spread out again and began to check the technology, the data, and the metal.

"Well, this going take a while." Lazarus said from a computer nearby.

"Why?" John asked.

"Well, for starters, this technology isn't in the best condition. Half the data is corrupted and the rest is locked behind years of security systems and code that barely makes any sense to me. The other part of it is... This may not be a Supremacy One installation after all." Lazarus knew exactly what kind of hate that phrase would earn him when he said that and was both shocked and relieved when John's only response was a sigh.

"Who built it then?" John asked, walking closer.

"See that icon there?" He pointed at the corner of the screen, where the letters CSC were written. "That's the insignia of the Coalition of Scientific Control, the organization that funded the Supremacy Project in the first place. I thought all of what they had was decommissioned by Orion."

"Decommissioned? Since when did Orion give up anything valuable?"

"Since the organization who built it left him the bitter husk we both know and loathe. Not exactly memories he wanted to hold onto, which is why it's so odd that this place is even still standing, let alone declared a vital asset." Lazarus was obviously getting engrossed in his work, so John let him be past a simple gesture that said to keep working. John moved over to several mechanisms and switches and began messing around with them, having no clue what any of these devices did as the labels had long since faded away or where never there to begin with.

"Hey John." Lazarus said as he watched him screw around with the switches. "If one of those turns on the AC, would you mind flipping it? I'm having enough of a hard time with this computer, the last thing I need right now are my central functions overheating."

John blinked for a second, having understood the entirety of that last sentence, but puzzled as to why he felt he needed to explain it in such detail. Technological knowledge not exactly being applicable at this time, he just flipped every switch that wasn't broken and hoped it did something. Only one of them seemed to control anything useful: The hatches on the walls. The second he found that out though, he regretted it. The hatches began to open one by one, letting in wall of light so powerful that it could burn the eyes out of a man's skull. It simmered down a little and John looked through miraculously still intact shielding at what lay outside this little bunker.

"Hey Lazarus..." John said, stuttering in his words somewhat.

"What?" He asked, the light having not affected him thanks to filters in his eyes.

"Remember how you asked why it was so warm in here? I've got an answer for you." John raised one arm and one finger, pointing straight at what lay outside: Magma. They had forgotten the most important fact about this once bountiful wonder of nature: It was directly on top of an active volcano, one that had not settled in the two-hundred years since it had last been observed by human eyes. The molten rock had not managed to eat through the shielding that surrounded them, but judging from the fact that heat was getting inside so easily, it was becoming obvious this place was not faring well.

Lazarus, who was satisfied with the answer but in no way amazed by the sight, went back to working. It was not long before he ended up making a discovery, though not one he would expect.

"It looks like I can download the information on these terminals, what's left of it anyway, onto a holotape. Just let me..." Lazarus trailed off mid-sentence as he looked at one of the files on the computer. "Oh that is really not good."

"What happened now?" John asked as he walked towards the terminal.

The machine began to rub the place where temples would be on a human being, his fake skin tearing slightly as he did. "If this terminal is to be believed, we may have just made a tragic error in judgment. This place is apparently housing some type of weapon, one that we may have inadvertently turned on."

"WHAT?!" The Courier's voice cracked as he screamed. "How?"

"This whole place is a seismic bomb. It apparently was some type of prototype for a system they were developing. From the looks of it, it was designed to be used in the case of... Extraterrestrial invasion and/or conquest, whatever the hell that means. We've got three minutes before this whole thing explodes, presumably taking the whole park with it."

"Shit." John muttered. "I've got a transportalponder in my bag. Get the data and let's go."

"Already on it." Lazarus said as he copied all the information stored in the old computer. Once he knew he had it all, they both started running back the way they came, climbing the ladder in a rush, they surfaced out of the metal hatch, preparing to leave. John pulled the transportalponder out of his bag in hurry, his hands stumbling as they did.

"Come on Lazarus. We need to-" His voice was silenced by the sound of a sniper rifle being fired and the Transportalponder shattering in his hands.

"What the hell was that?!" John yelled, grasping his bleeding hand as he pulled bits of broken metal out of it. He barely got one fragment out before another bullet came whizzing by his head.

"Don't move!" A voice yelled as headlights flashed on in front of them. They both looked ahead to see that two figures approaching, weapons raised and fingers on the triggers. They became easier to make out as they drew closer, revealing the familiar sight of power armor and Gauss Rifles. "You are now in custody of the Brotherhood of Steel. Do not attempt to resist or we will kill you."

"Yeah a lot of people have tried that with me. Not one succeeded." Lazarus replied, still acting calm and witty. "You won't even scratch him with those." He pointed at John, who was shaking his head dismissively as he remembered the current issue.

"Do not talk back to me or I will shoot you!" She yelled again, the familiar barking of the Midwestern Brotherhood commander was not at all comforting or compassionate, but at the same time didn't exactly make them tremble.

John, who was now out of options to escape, decided to act rationally. "Listen to me, I don't know you, I don't know what you want, and right now I couldn't care less. There is a weapon underneath our feet that is preparing to go off. Listen to me when I say we don't want to be around when it goes off."

"Yeah?" The commander replied with cynicism. "Well I think you're full of shit!" She declared with cold eyes piercing through her dim helmet. I think you're working with your buddy there to help the Adversary and his agenda. Same thing happened back in Denver four months ago. We let some guy go, and then he stabs us in the back. It won't happen twice.

Adversary? The Courier quietly mumbled that word, as if a number of dominoes were falling over in his head. Those same dominoes took a pause for a moment when the ground began to violently shake with a magnitude he had never seen before. So powerful that it could shake the skies and the stars above them. Noticing that the Courier was lost in a day dream, Lazarus took hold of the situation.

"Listen to us!" He yelled. "The entire crater is about to become nothing more then a pillar of fire. We need to leave! You can question us all you want somewhere less deadly, does that sound fair?"

The Lookout and Commander took another glance at each other as the ground continued to shake, the crust of the Earth cracking open to rays of orange light below, the Courier looking in the same direction. They were starting to take them seriously.

"All right, let's move out! Come on!" She said, motioning Lazarus and John over to the Hummer, but while Lazarus took off in an instant, John did not. When Lazarus was getting into the hummer, he spotted John standing over the widening crack as the ground continued to shake. He knew exactly what he was about to try.

"John! It's not worth it! Not now!" The machine yelled from the vehicle.

"It's always worth it." He muttered as he turned to look at Lazarus. "GO! I'll find you later!" The Brotherhood soldiers took that as an excuse to leave and they took off without any chance for Lazarus to argue. By the time Lazarus could have looked back they were in the dead woods and he had lost sight of John, leaving them to escape.

Back at the widening cracks temperatures were rising fast, so John took advantage before his body could adapt. He took a running leap and dove into the magma of the volcano below. Without so much as a sound, the Courier was inside the fires of hell.

* * *

New Vegas - Lucky 38

In Vegas, the Adversary stood in the stolen castle of his stolen kingdom. He watched the sun rising in the distance, eyes unmoving in there gaze, wondering what the Courier was up to right now. He had expected retaliation by now, knowing what he had heard about the Courier. He knew he wasn't a coward and that rage usually dictated his next course of action, but there hadn't been any reports of him reentering the Mojave. On the otherhand, he also knew that he wasn't stupid, that he even an enraged John was still a perceptive man, just one that is willing to take drastic actions.

"My lord," Veronica's mindless form said as it appeared behind him, "you summoned me?" Her monotone persisted through what would make others timid and frightened.

"I did." He replied, not even looking at her, and not giving her a straight answer. She didn't speak another word, instead she waited for an order from the Adversary, who was once again twirling Leon's Blade in between his hands. It seemed like he had summoned her for something that didn't seem as important to him now, considering how he was usually a man who got right to his point or at least gave a cryptic taunt.

Then he spoke again, his voice giving off a sense of suspicon. "Do you still have any feelings towards John? Any feelings of freindship, loyalty, or sympathy?" He asked, the blade spinning on the tip of his finger.

"No. I am loyal only to you." She replied, her blank expression staring straight past the Adversary into the early morning skies.

"So... If I were to ask you to betray everything he ever stood for and secure his destruction, you would do it?"

"Yes." She replied almost immediately. He shot a brief smile from his chair.

"Then I want you to make an announcement: The Courier is Public Enemy Number 1. Reward for capturing him: 12 Million Caps. Even more so, I want you to assemble a special task force. One made of people who are friends and allies of the Courier and assign them with the task of capturing him."

Of course my lord. "However..."

The Adversary grimaced at her. "However?"

"We would need some sort of justification. Declaring the Courier an enemy of the state would be difficult, considering his reputation as a hero. Do you have anyway to do it?" Veronica's rare moments of thought and inquisitiveness beyond "Obey the Adversary" were brought to a halt when there answer arrived. The both of them simultaneously noticed that the room was growing darker every second and when the Adversary turned to find out why, his face came alive with an emotion he hadn't felt in a long time: Fear.

On the horizon, eclipsing the sun, was a gigantic cloud of ash, thousands of miles wide in the skies of the Earth. It quickly enveloped the sun's golden light and replaced it with a darkness as black as night. The cloud was spreading faster than the Adversary could have anticipated and the people in the streets below were looking up into the once blue sky only to see nothing but grey. Then the cinders began to fall, first by the dozen, then by the hundred, and finally by the thousand. Like a blizzard of fire, the ash rained onto the Mojave and no doubt all of North America bearing death. With the ash came a great earthquake, shaking the foundations of sin city, while the temperature across the desert began to plummet rapidly down to levels only seen in the darkest of winters. At first people were simply frightened, then they began to panic and riot all across the Mojave.

From the tower, the Adversary watched with a truly realized fear in his eyes.

Get your armies out there! We need to keep order! He commanded. Veronica complied and left the room to contact New Vegas's armies, while the Adversary continued to watch the fire fall from the east. He watched with a obivous dread, but also with a look of realization, a sense of understanding in his eyes. He seemed to know what he was looking at, he might have even known what caused it, but no matter why, he was terrified. He muttered four short words as he watched, and it only amplified his own fear.

"What did you do?

* * *

Back on the outskirts of Yellowstone, Lazarus and the Brotherhood soldiers had stopped a few miles away from the crater, whose sides were now covered in a thick blanket of molten stone and fire. There was no sign of the lava stopping anytime soon, as entire rivers of the destructive stuff were now pouring all around them. Every now and again another eruption would ring out from the volcano, but it was far too late for anyone to care.

The Commander of the unit, once caught up in the hunt for a deadly enemy, was now standing timidly watching the grizzly sight of the super-volcano. Her stone cold resolve was shattered, her very being was shaken, and her companions weren't doing any better. The raining ash would often brush against their armor with a small flutter of embers, glowing brightly before flickering away.

Lazarus was unsettled, but not to any significant degree, as something else was tugging at him as he watched the ash plumes roll on by in the skies above. Something that the Commander eagerly reminded him of.

"I think it's about time we pulled out. Won't be long before magma hits here too." She said, looking at the rivers of fire that lay on both sides of them.

"We're not leaving without John." He replied, ignoring the fires around him.

The Commander made an annoyed grunt. "There is no way he survived that. No one could." Her anger only served to strengthen Lazarus's belief.

He did. That was his only reply as he looked back towards Yellowstone."

"I'm sorry but we aren't waiting. Either come with us on the jeep or die here waiting for a pile of embers. It's your choice." The Commander stared in Lazarus's direction, her eyes almost piercing through the armored eye-slits of her helmet. That went on for about a minute, before she shrugged and began to walk away.

"All right. Go ahead, wait here for a dead man. You're not going to be much help anyway." She walked back towards the jeep while Lazarus sat on his rock watching the magma flow on by. When the Commander reached the jeep, she signaled the Lookout from the window.

"Contact the Elders, tell them what's happened, and then requisition some extra support. Now that are only lead is..." She and Lazarus spotted something at the same time. It was brief, but it did happen. In the river to their left, for just a moment something breached the surface of the flaming stone. Lazarus stood up and walked towards where he had seen it surface, but seeing how wide the river was now it could very well be long gone by now. The Commander was hesitating to leave now as well, as she had seen the breach as well, but didn't understand how anything could be alive in that stream of brimstone.

Then there was another breach, this time closer to the shore. Shortly after there was another, then another, and yet another. It quickly became clear that not only was something alive in it but it was swimming. It swam closer and closer, before a hand that was nothing more than a skeleton managed to take grasp of the rocks on the shore, holding on as another hand that had some amounts of skin but was still mostly a bloodied and fiery skeleton reached for some support. Lazarus ran over to the hands, grabbing the one that was shaking in the air and pulling whoever it was out of the hell it was in.

"I'll be damned." While it was a surprise to the Commander, it did not surprise Lazarus in any way when he saw a damaged Courier emerge. His suit had melted away, his skin and muscles were missing in many place, and his legs were simply stubs. The left half of his face was burned off completely while the right side was charred and melting fast. Lazarus, startled by the Courier's condition but knowing he would be all right, watched as a familiar green glow appeared across his body, his wounds beginning to close and his horribly damaged appendages began to grow back. It would take time but he would be all right, although mentally this did not help his situation in anyway. Only crossed out a few hundred other suicide methods he could try and would fail if a live super-volcano would not kill him.

John's right eye came back to working condition first and the first thing he saw was the Hummer's Trunk opening and him being put in along with several bottles of water and a bit of food. His head rolled over to see a small hatch about a foot wide connecting the trunk to the back seat, where he could hear several voices talking at once as he slipped in and out of consciousness. He did manage to clearly make out Lazarus's voice and the one thing he said.

"We need to get him somewhere secure. Let me drive, I'll take us to the Syndicate."


	10. Nightmares

Wow, I have had an interesting few weeks. I won't go into it, but let's just say my progress was hampered heavily due to some personal problems. Anyway, here's the next chapter, a whole lot of character development to set up the start of the main conflict. Hope you like it.

* * *

To the Guest(s) who brought up the issue of how many bears were killed last chapter, thanks for noting it, but frankly it's not a big enough discrepancy that I'm going to do anything about it. Not to mention if one of the bears did survive, it couldn't hurt John and it would die when Yellowstone blew up.

CyberJordan: Nope. Probably not. I could also name him Captain Jack. Seems more accurate wouldn't you say? :) While they didn't wake up anything physically, some bad memories have resurfaced as a result, and they're genuinely painful for him to think about.

Vino213: Well thanks for the support. I'll be sure to enter John at the next Olympics.

Slovous: For John, death is the only reason he keeps living. (I know it's strange but hear me out.) He doesn't have anything left and no reason to look for something else to fight for. Death is his only release and he's been denied that. So now he's looking for a way to die. The Adversary on the other hand has a history that will be revealed later, it will make sense of his fear when you find out the exact details of said history.

Exile037: You have, they were Lazarus's private army in Last Revolution. They've taken on a very different role now.

Guest: A lot of them. The Midwest Brotherhood is one of the few fronts I haven't explored, so time to venture in that direction.

* * *

Chapter 10

Nightmares

When John's eyes opened yet again, he was not where had closed them before. Instead he was standing in what looked like an endless desert under a clear blue sky. There was nothing on the horizon but the light of an uncaring sun. The sky was blue and cloudless while the sands were still and flat, yet all of it made John uneasy. There were no settlements in any direction, no evidence of any civilization, pre or post-war. No mountains, trees, lakes, or grass, just sand. It was all very strange to him, as he had never been anywhere like this before. Sure he had been in a desert, he had been there most of his life, but there was always something around him. Something to guide him. Here there wasn't even a sand dune.

"What happened?" He wondered as he scouted the area with his sharp vision. He remembered being in the back of a Hummer at the edge of an exploding Yellowstone, not laying face down in a desert with no end in sight. He also took notice that he was wearing something he hadn't worn in a long time: His Courier's Duster, the symbol on the back still shining, if dimly. He continued to look around, before gazing into the sun. It looked like it was 9:00 in the morning as it was making its climb from the east to the top of the sky. Knowing his directions, he started walking west, knowing that was the direction of home, and kept walking for what must have been at least an hour.

He never met anything more complex than the sand he walked on. No mountains, no buildings, nothing but the sun in the sky to guide his path. It was then that he realized something equally disturbing about this place: The sun wasn't moving. It just hung there in the skies above, unmoving and unyielding in its light. The Courier didn't have his Pip-Boy so there was no way to check the time or direction other than the sun. Now even that seemed to have failed him. He realized that he may not even be heading west, he could still be where he started for all he knew.

"Damn my life." He muttered before losing his balance when he toppled over something he hadn't taken notice of. As he pushed himself back to his feet from the sands, he saw that he had tripped over a 1-foot rise in the sand, which didn't make it any less embarrassing that he had done it, but at the same time was something new. More than he could say about the rest of his surroundings. Realizing that something might be underneath it, he took a running kick at the rise, and it was scattered to the air. He reached down in the dust cloud and found that there was a long shaft of metal inside. He pulled it out and discovered that it was Old Glory, Ulysses flag that he carried into battle all that time ago. It was damaged, rusted, and the eagle on top was missing its right wing but it still was Old Glory; the bloody hand prints of the Courier who carried it still marked the shaft.

"What in the world?" He said as he examined it. The last time he had seen Old Glory, he buried Ulysses with it, and now it was here in the middle of some godforsaken desert.

"How does it feel Courier?" An unfamiliar voice called seemingly from out of nowhere. The Courier gazed around and found that there was no one in sight. Nothing around that could speak, not even the wind howling.

"You failed us all." Another voice called. The Courier continued to gaze around him, clutching Old Glory in hand as he did. He didn't recognize this voice either, possibly because it was echoing so much in the open desert. Then a third voice spoke and it was one he did recognize.

"Why couldn't you just die?" It said, a familiar anger in its tone. It was the familiar snarl of the late Lone Wanderer, Leon Stinger.

"I'm not afraid of you Leon." John declared. "You're nothing but an echo. Leave me alone." His tone was not confident, nor was it particularly brave, while Leon's voice seemed to be getting closer and closer.

"Oh but you are afraid. You're afraid of the Adversary, you're afraid of me, but most of all you're afraid of yourself. You and that curse of yours." His voice was now practically behind John, to the point where he could feel chills running the length of his spine.

"You're wrong." John replied, almost stammering with his words as he continued to grasp Old Glory in hands, his grip tightening to the point where the pole was crumpling.

"Am I really?" It asked, "Am I wrong, John? Am I wrong for hating you? Am I wrong for trying to save those I loved from your destructive actions? Was I wrong for trying to spare Amata? Was I wrong for trying to save Marie Ashur from your assassins? Did none of that happen? Was I just another madman in this mad world?" John knew now that there was more than just a voice behind him, but he did not turn around. He felt paralyzed and dead inside.

"Well? ANSWER ME!" He screamed into John's ear. John did not. He said nothing in response to Leon's demands, still not gazing at whatever was behind him, despite the fact that he now saw a shadow directly next to his, one that easily matched Leon's in shape.

"No." John finally declared, before he spun around with Old Glory in hand and swung directly at where Leon would have stood. All he felt when it hit something was horror when instead of Leon, he saw a twisted reflection of himself, and watched as Old Glory hit it and shattered into a thousand fragments. The reflection was him in a Vault 21 Jumpsuit, wearing the uniform from the day he died for the first time, the day he was shot in the head over a chip he hadn't cared about all that time ago. It started laughing and laughing like a psychopath, then the image began to crack. It's skin and clothing began to break, then disintegrate into dust, revealing something beneath the skin, something far more terrifying and agonizing for the Courier to bear witness too.

Orion.

John's teeth chattered, his bones shook, and his face was alive with horror.

"No... You're not real. You're dead! I watched happen!" He yelled into the face of the machine. He felt Orion press his metal hand directly over his heart and John's eyes widened.

"As long as you live, so do I. We are the same, Courier, we always were." John screamed for an instant as a ray of golden light crashed through his heart and he collapsed in agony.

* * *

Old Shack - Outskirts of Goodsprings

Noah Torn had not had a pleasant week. First a ghost he believed long dead returned to torment him, then a Super-Volcano exploded with enough ash to plunge Earth back into the ice age. As far as bad weeks go, this was probably just about as low as you could get. As soon as the Adversary had left his sight, Noah gathered up as many of his possessions from his room at the Vault 21 hotel, left a note of resignation on Michelangelo's desk, and took off running from the Strip. His broken body couldn't carry him fast enough to get him away from the Adversary, and after a long walk out from Freeside, looping back around the city wall, and crossing the entirety of the Mojave Desert he had to rest. He had found this shack not far from the Yangtze Memorial and just outside the field of view of Goodsprings and chose to make it his resting place. He would set off for California the next morning, not wanting to watch the Adversary turn this nation of panic into his own kingdom of death.

The shack seemed like a descent place. Made out of string and sheets of metal like most places, but it was well stocked. There was a bed, some ammo boxes, a work bench, some that let in a decent amount of light from outside, and a few lockers with some clothing and a case of Buffout inside, which he took at a speed most normal people would associate with a cheetah. He gobbled it down like a box of Skittles to calm his nerves or better yet kill him. Because he knew that no matter how far he ran, without the Lone Wanderer there was no way to fight the Adversary, when he would inevitably start hunting for better prey.

He laid down on the filth encrusted mattress, his body taking comfort in the uncomfortable. There weren't any bugs, that was a nice start, but a rattled frame and loose springs made the entire thing a death trap. Not to mention the chances of broken glass or rusted nails sticking out of the floor or walls around him, which looked like they could be blown down by a medium-sized wind. Still, better to be uncomfortable and unsafe then in the hands of the Adversary.

That thought, upon reflection, was probably what jinxed the appearance on his doorstep. It was late in the night, while a gust of wind was blasting through the Mojave, probably a result of the explosions at Yellowstone and the still rapidly dropping temperatures from the ash cloud holding overhead, when there was a knock on the shack door. Noah immediately woke from his sleep, his body about to crumble in agony from the lack of painkillers in his system. He quickly remedied that and stood up as another knock shook the front door.

Hesitantly, Noah drew a 32. Revolver he had kept from his days wandering the Capital Wasteland, and walked towards the door, sweat pouring from his face. He placed his head on the door listening as a third knocking came, this one far heavier than the last two, with enough force to create a large crack in the door. Noah peaked through for a second, pulled back for a second when he realized who was on the other side, and barely dodged a flying door when it was effectively knocked off the hinges and exposed the shack to the cold and the dark outside, the only light the brief glow of embers of still falling fire. In the door frame, standing tall with a sinister aura about him, was the Adversary sporting an uncharacteristic and disturbing grin.

"You know the old saying don't you? He will knock four times." The Adversary's dry sarcasm only made the situation more tense as Noah lay on the floor of the shack, his teeth clenched together in his mouth as he looked into the fearsome gaze of the enemy of all that was good in the world.

"Why are you here? I told you what you wanted." Noah replied, coughing blood up from his throat as he tried to get to his feet.

The Adversary pulled a chair from the corner of the shack into the middle of the room and sat down. "Can't an old friend say goodbye?" He wasn't acting like himself, he seemed strangely happy. Though that easily could have just been a deranged smile.

"We're not friends. We'll never be friends. You murdered my family!" Noah yelled in rage, tears forming in his eyes.

"Oh that." He rolled his eyes. "Haven't you gotten over them? They seemed quite annoying, constantly needing you." He was taking delight in watching Noah suffer. For some reason the Adversary liked to torment Noah more than anyone else, an honor Noah frankly didn't want or need. Something he made abundantly clear when he charged at the Adversary. His charge ended not a few feet away from his foe, but as he moved to punch the Adversary right in the jaw, a hand jolted from the Adversary's lap and blocked it, before a kick crashed into his gut and sent him flying into the wall.

The Adversary stood back up and gave a sarcastic applause, grinning again. Bravo. "You did an admirable job becoming a worthless pile of trash. A truly great work of art." He said as he pulled Noah to his feet from under a pile of garbage that had lain around the shack. He then threw him back onto the mattress, Noah being too weak to move on his own now that the Adversary had managed to thrash him even worse with even less effort.

"Enough..." Noah crowed. "If you're going to kill me, just do it. I've lived too long anyways."

"Kill you?" The Adversary asked before letting out a brief laugh. "I'm not here to kill you, Noah. The truth is I'm here simply to make sure your remain in the Mojave."

"What?" Noah managed to ask, crowing in pain as he did. He couldn't show it, but he was shocked. Truly stunned by those words.

"I am making sure you stay. You see, no matter what we may think of each other, we share a connection you and I. Our past is quite the colored one isn't it? The Cross Incident, the Patriots, and of course Vault 66. We're like brothers, bound by blood and fire." He smiled maliciously, his face decorated by hate.

"You sick freak." Noah muttered enraged. "You're not a man, you're a monster."

"Really? Well if I'm a monster, what does that make you? A saint?" The Adversary seemed to be getting very angry. "Don't act like you're just a victim. I was there during the Patriot War, I saw what you did, don't think it's something either of us can just forget."

Noah looked up at him. "What I did I paid for..."

"And so did I!" The Adversary yelled as he cut off Noah. "I spent over ten years buried alive! Do you know what that's like? No one around but worms to speak to? No one to hear your cries?"

Noah looked at him, breathing rapidly and angrily. "You deserved to be buried a lot longer than that, you bastard. Now get out, let me get a night's rest."

The Adversary grunted, trying to come up with some response, but ultimately let it go. "Fine, but don't forget what I said. You won't be leaving. Not now, not ever. Good night, Noah." He vanished as quickly as he arrived, fleeing into the night without another word. Noah in the meantime pondered those words, unsure of what he was dealing with. He knew that the Adversary would keep his word, demolishing his chances of escape as well as his morale. He had nothing left to fight for but was left with no other ways out but to fight or die.

Something that even the Adversary had to learn at one point. Maybe they were alike in some ways. A thought that truly frightened and sickened Noah more than the Adversary himself.

* * *

Elsewhere in the world, someone else was enduring a different kind of pain. John had returned to the real world with a gasp of air and his eyes opening as wide as the sun.

"AH!" He yelled as he escaped from what he now knew was nothing but a nightmare. He was gasping for air and beads of sweat were appearing on his forehead as his many glowing scars and wounds lit up with a bright green light, his always dark eyes as wide as a canyon. He looked from side to side as he scanned the room for any sign of the Lord of the Machine, but there was no sign of Orion. There was medical equipment on every side, heart monitors and such, but none was actively monitoring him. Probably because Lazarus knew of his condition or perhaps that someone wanted him to die. The room itself was nothing more than a cot on wheels in a damp and darkened cave lit only by the dim flicker of a flash bulb on the ceiling.

John laid back down in his cot, knowing he was in no danger at the present. He knew where he was, he knew who inhabited these caves, and knew that he was safe from the Adversary for a while. He noticed that there was some clothing was in a box nearby, but didn't bother getting up. He felt exhausted, even after his minor coma, and slowly closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and turned the radio that was inside his Pip-Boy on. Johnny Guitar was playing on Radio New Vegas, the familiar mellow tones of the song making him feel welcome even in these frankly grim caverns. He just kept his eyes shut, laid his head back on the pillow, and rested for the time being. After all, there was really nowhere else to go. The city he called home was occupied by a mad king, Big MT. was far too obvious, so what else was left? His mind briefly flashed an image of Zion Canyon in response to the question but he quickly dismissed that option. There were too many people there that he didn't want to put in danger, far too many possible casualties.

Johnny Guitar slowly ended as he tried to come up with a new plan, giving way to the bellowing voice of Mr. New Vegas. "Hey there New Vegas!" He bellowed. "I know you're all still shaken in the aftermath of the tremendous eruption at Yellowstone early this morning. While information about the exact condition that caused the eruption have been scarce, we do know that it was not an act of god." John opened his eyes and gazed down at the metal gauntlet on his wrists, the broadcast having his full attention. "If you haven't already heard, the New Vegas government has discovered that this was a deliberate act by a deadly terrorist and our former hero: The Courier." John's eyes widened and his teeth began to grind against each other. Commandant Veronica gave an address earlier today to discuss the current crisis.

"I know this is a hard truth to accept, but the Courier has wrought this destruction upon us. He has given up on the human race and now he is determined to destroy us all. We know this will not be the last attack, therefore we are placing a bounty on his head. 12,000,000 Caps for the capture of the Courier. There will be no reward for his death. To aid in this matter, I am assigning a special task force to hunt him down. This is our greatest threat since Supremacy One and we will respond without hesitation."

John wanted to scream in anger, but he knew very few people would hear him. The Adversary was using his closest friend as a slave, making her do everything possible to end him, and no one knew. No one except him.

His rage was interrupted by the wooden door on the end of the room opening. A figure, dressed partly in Chinese Stealth Armor minus the helmet, entered. His rage settled slightly when he saw the face of the woman who entered.

"Well, you're awake. I guess Lazarus wasn't kidding when he said you were immortal." She said, her dark skinned face softly smiling at him.

"I'm not a dead man yet. How are you, Phantom?" He asked, gazing at her as she walked further into the dim room. It was of course the leader of the Syndicate, a woman by the name of Phantom. She had been, at one point, a clone of someone very close to the Lone Wanderer. Since she awoke, her goal was to find an individual identity, and not long after the Last Revolution, she found one. Phantom, the leader of the cybernetic legion known as the Syndicate, a group of augmented human beings who worked as brokers of almost anything. Once they were just considered minor freelancers, now they controlled the Black Market and traded in almost anything, secretly supported by New Vegas. Past that, a good deal of them were mercenaries, working as thieves, soldiers, spies, and even assassins as long as they got something in return. Caps meant nothing to them, they worked in favors, deals, and debts to call upon at any moment, ones that you could never back out of if you wanted to live.

"I'm doing all right." She replied, smiling. "Although I know you've seen better days."

He sat up in his cot, dressed only in a pair of boxers while his chest was bare and showed off an inhuman amount of scars that were all shapes and sizes. It was also much skinnier then the last time they had met, so was the rest of him, years of starvation and dehydration tended to do that.

"The whole world has done better. I'm guessing that broadcast has repeated all morning?" John's state didn't damper his curiosity.

"Pretty much." Phantom replied. "It seems Veronica has a score to settle. Care to explain why?"

John got out of the cot and walked towards the box with equipment in it. "You already know the answer, don't you?" His reply had a tone so cold that the air nearly froze.

"I need to be sure." She stated, her friendly demeanor gone.

She's not in control of her own actions. Someone has done something to her..." John stopped for a moment, remembering the name that the Midwestern Soldiers mentioned. "Calls himself the Adversary." He finished those words slowly, unsure of the reaction he would get from someone who most likely had met the Adversary. He would have expected shock or anger or something like that. Instead all she did was cringe slightly then regain her composure almost immediately.

"That lines up with the story the Brotherhood Soldiers gave. If he's back, we're all in danger." Phantom's voice sounded quite serious as her face hardened into an expression as cold as steel. "Why would he come back after all this time?" She briefly paced back and forth searching for an answer, which came through the voice of the Courier.

"He wants to kill me, ironically. He was a bit disappointed, but no more than any other time he tried to commit suicide. "Why that is exactly, I have no idea. All I know is that is has something to do with Leon."

"Hmm... Revenge maybe?" She mused, unsure of her own theories. "Leon was his greatest opponent. Perhaps he thinks you robbed him of his chance for payback."

"But I didn't kill Leon! Orion did!"

"Knowing the Adversary, I don't think he cares who actually killed Leon. He's blaming you, and that's good enough for him." Phantom's logic wasn't exactly sound, nor did it make sense of why the Adversary had such a grudge against the Courier. Then again, what did make sense in this world anymore? The Adversary could very easily just be another sadistic enemy playing another sadistic game with the Courier, trying to torment him and crush his spirit, all for the fun of it. Yet, that wasn't the feeling that John had gotten from him. He had seen conviction in those soulless eyes and knew that there was more to this then just a madman's fun. Much more.

Before he could draw any other conclusions, he was snapped back to reality by Phantom. "We need to be ready for the worst. I'll recall my operatives from Vegas and see if they can gather any more intelligence on the way out. As for you, regain your strength. We won't stand a chance if you're not at your best"

John nodded. "All right. Sounds like a plan." John confirmed, before realizing he had forgotten something. "Wait before you go, tell me something: Who is the Adversary?"

Phantom gazed from side to side before turning around and walking towards the door. "I wish I could tell you John, but the truth is: None of us knew. Leon, Sarah, Amata, none of them ever knew who the Adversary really was. All we did know was that until Supremacy One showed up, he was the most dangerous enemy we ever faced. He's still definitely the most fearsome." She seemed pain to say those words. "We need to expect everything Courier. Unlike you or I, he doesn't have morales, he doesn't care who dies or gets hurt, and he definitely doesn't care what happens to himself. He's the most dangerous kind of man, if you want to call him that. One that has nothing left to lose."

After that she left, no doubt going to prepare for the Oncoming Storm. Her words didn't help the Courier. Right now his allies were limited to the Syndicate and while they were competent fighters and thinkers, there wasn't enough of them to make a stand against New Vegas, even with the resources he had at Big Empty, which was no doubt under siege even as he sat there. He wasn't worried about that, his failsafe would hold, but that wasn't enough to comfort him. He had to come up with options, a plan, something more than Phantom's idea. He need an edge, he needed a weapon, he needed a game-changer. Something or someone who could shake up the entire system.

Then he realized something. There was one game-changer left. One thing that could change the playing field. One thing that might make the Adversary back down.

_No. _He thought. _That's not an option, not now. _Unbeknownst to even his closest allies, John had a trump card at his disposal. A last resort that could end any conflict, but one that he wasn't sure he could control. It would have to be a true nightmare scenario for him to even consider using it.

The scariest thing was: The Courier was starting to think it was his only chance.


	11. Challenge and Hiatus

Umm... Yeah, I know this is going to come as a bit of a shock, but I'm putting this on Hiatus. Before you say anything, let me be clear: This is not cancelled. Eon is very much here to stay, but for the month of November, I'm going to be participating in a writing event called NaNoWriMo. The goal is to write a full-fledged ORIGINAL novel in one month with 5000 words per day. So, I'm going to take up there challenge and attempt to pull it off. For that however, I'm going to have to go dark here on the site for all of November. Meaning no new updates. I'll still be able to read and review stories here and there as well as answer PM's that come my way, but other then that I'll be pretty much dead to the world. (Well, dead to this site.)

Past that, there's not much else to say. I did start a new story here on the site about two weeks ago called Fallout: The Scope. It's my lightest story by far, mainly focusing on the relationship between the Courier and his many interesting friends, specifically the relationship between him and Ulysses. Check that out if you're interested. Otherwise, see you at the holidays.


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